


Routinely Rejecting Happiness

by Schizzar



Series: Routinely Rejecting Happiness [3]
Category: Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types, Daredevil (Comics), Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Comfort Sex, Fluff, Mash up of multiple universes, Multi, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-25
Updated: 2012-08-25
Packaged: 2017-11-08 12:11:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 26,767
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/443066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schizzar/pseuds/Schizzar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter Parker does not have a good record. Everyone he's close to ends up dying, so what's the point in even looking? It doesn't help that someone seems intent on breaking him. For good.</p><p>Part 3 of Routinely Rejecting Happiness but can be read as a stand alone</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So important things to note. I blended together a few different Spiderman universes in this story. I had Gwen Stacy and Mary Jane killed by a mix of canon and my own ideas off screen. That's not really a spoiler for the rest of the story but I thought I'd give a heads up that I'm aware I distorted their deaths a bit. 
> 
> Also, this story has a sequel. This story mainly focuses on Peter and I want to give Clint a little love too. So be on the look out for that.

By this point, Peter had been approached by every Avenger. Their techniques were all different: offers of money, a mansion, and in Tony's case, all the phone numbers of hot girls he wanted. Captain America had found him earlier that night on his way back to see Auntie May, throwing him into a wall and pinning him to the brick. Then he threatened his life unless he joined.

Which led to where he was now. Matt's living room, nursing a sprained wrist and wondering if it would ever be safe to visit Auntie May now that the Avengers were out for his head. Matt dropped an ice pack in his lap and then sat down beside him, loosening his tie. "So you get your ass kicked by Captain Patriotism. What next?"

"Said that if I don't join them, I'll be treated as a villain and hunted down. I can't leave Auntie May alone in the world though. I have to listen to him. Become a government lapdog." Peter sank into the couch with a sigh, the ice soothing the pain in his wrist.

"Make them agree to a contract," Matt suggested.

"They'd rather kill me. Not exactly in the position to be making demands," Peter said.

Matt chuckled. "I swear, sometimes you're more blind than I am. They want you on their side. You are  _exactly_  in the position to be making demands. Want me to write one up for you?"

"Wait, I need to think about this more," Peter said.

"No you don't. Pizza should be here in about ten minutes. Pay for it yourself, you bum. I'll be typing up your contract," Matt said, getting to his feet and heading for his room.

"But you're blind!"

"Doesn't mean I can't type asshole!"

It was an old joke between them, poking fun at Matt's blindness. Perhaps to some it was bad, offensive, but for them it was so old, neither cared. Peter sunk down into the couch. It seemed even his best friend had turned against him, so he didn't have much of a choice.  _Bet if I asked Auntie May she'd agree with Matt too._ He sighed, running a hand down his face.  _But the government pay would be nice. No more shitty apartments that I get kicked out of when I can't pay. Not that it matters much, given how I practically live here._  There were more clothes packed away in Matt's closet than his own back home.

Then there was the whole secret identity thing. All the other Avengers were open to the public and each other but he couldn't  _do_  that. No press conferences. Maybe those cheesy photo-shoots that he saw in the magazines, as long as he got to keep his mask on. When the doorbell rang, he checked his pockets for his wallet only to discover it wasn't there.

"Matt! I don't have my wallet!"

"That's why I left a twenty on the counter. Knew you'd forget again."

"Asshole," Peter grumbled, snatching the money and going to pay for the food.

"Heard that."

"Yeah, I know."

Halfway through the large, meat lover's pizza, Matt emerged with a healthy stack of documents in hand, offering Peter a smile.

"I don't wanna go through all that," Peter said.

"Here's a summary," Matt said, tossing a sheet of paper onto his lap before sitting beside him.

Peter set his food down and began to read, impressed that Matt had managed to put in a provision to guard against every possible chance of his identity being revealed.

"Matt, you know me so well, it's kind've creepy," Peter said. When he looked over, Matt was sealing the envelope with the contract inside, labeled for Nick Fury.

"It comes with being your best friend." Matt leaned over to give him a quick kiss. "And lover. I'll go mail this tonight. Lie low, okay? We can go out when I get back."

Peter nodded as Matt grabbed his walking stick and headed out the door, envelope under his arm. Reclining back, he let his body relax fully for the first time since he arrived. Thanks to Matt, something was finally being done by the whole problem that had been plaguing him since the Black Widow had offered him sex if he joined. Her face when he told her he didn't swing that way had been priceless.

His spidey senses flared up abruptly, and he lurched forward, rolling to the ground and whirling around to see an arrow punched through the couch where he had been moments before. Flustered, he got to his feet, grim as he realized the arrow had been shot through the window he had left open as an escape route. Even as he registered this, a hand grasped the windowsill and Hawkeye swung inside, bow in hand.

Peter's heart dropped to his stomach. Hawkeye was an Avenger. Who now knew he was Spiderman.

"How'd you get here?"  
The brown haired man shrugged, blue eyes sparking with amusement. "After Cap totally kicked your ass, I followed after you, and I've been watching you since you arrived. They said your spidey senses would let you know if you were in physical danger, so I decided to test it."

"What? What if I  _hadn't_ been Spiderman? That would've killed me!"

Hawkeye shrugged. "I made sure it wouldn't hit anything vital."

"You're insane!"

"And squirrely little Peter Parker is Spiderman. Oh...we aren't stating obvious facts?"

"How do you know my name?"

Hawkeye didn't answer, because the next moment, Daredevil's nun-chuck whipped past his ear, beaming the archer in the shoulder. Another flew by to crack against Hawkeye's wrist, the sickening crunch making Peter flinch. Hawkeye dropped his bow with a hiss, glaring at Daredevil.

"That was a quick change," Peter said as he looked back at him.

The Daredevil costume was immaculate, everything in place with both nun-chucks swinging lazily by his side. "Well, your heart rate spiked. Glad I came back."

"That was my good hand," Hawkeye said between clenched teeth as he cradled his wrist closer.

"Exactly. Now you know we're serious," Daredevil said, striding past Peter and jumping over the couch to stand right in front of Hawkeye. "A contract will be arriving on Nick Fury's desk tomorrow. If you tell  _anyone_  about Spiderman's true identity, that contract will be burned and I will kill you. If you keep your mouth shut, well, then maybe we can talk."

"Get your suit on, Peter. Don't want to risk someone recognizing you when I get picked up," Hawkeye said, his glare intense as he put more distance between them. His good hand tapped at a radio transmitter near his ear, and he muttered out a few words.

Peter darted to the bedroom, Daredevil trailing behind him. When the door shut, Matt pulled off the mask, covered eyes watching Peter carefully as he changed. It was an odd feeling to get used to, Matt's gaze tracking his every move even though he couldn't see anything.

"Did you have to break his wrist? Really, Matt?"

"I'm not risking your identity. If that requires him getting a broken wrist...I'm okay with that," Matt said with a shrug. "Besides, it should only be bruised, I didn't use enough strength."

"Yeah, but I'm not okay with that." Peter tugged his mask on. "Go apologize. And mean it, please."

Matt's expression was easy to read, it always was. A frown that said  _I still think I'm right but fine I'll play it your way because I want sex._ When they entered the room, Hawkeye was sitting at the windowsill, frowning as he stared down into the alleyway below.

"I'm sorry. I over-reacted, but we've been hiding our identities for so long, I get a bit protective when Peter's safety is in question," Matt said, mask firmly in place once more.

"It's fine. We knew you were Daredevil, but didn't think your lover was Spiderman. Sorry, but you're a bit...unassuming, Peter," Hawkeye said.

"You've been  _watching_  me?"

"Don't shoot the messenger. Again," Hawkeye said, leaning back against the sill. "If it's any consolation, we weren't going to ask you to become a part of the Avengers."

"Can't tell if that's an insult or not," Matt said. "Either way, guess I'm not surprised. I'm not exactly dependable."

Hawkeye didn't address the last comment, just plowing on. "You're both very careful seeing as how no one's picked up on Spiderman's true identity. I swear I won't tell anyone. If you're keeping it a secret, it's probably for a good reason. I'll respect it." The sound of a motor echoed up the brick walls of the two apartment buildings and Hawkeye glanced once more down into the alley. "That's my ride. I'll see you around, Spiderman."

With a wink, he rolled out the window. Neither hero looked to see what happened, waiting a solid thirty seconds before Matt moved towards the window. "Can I shut this?"

Matt knew him too well. Knew he couldn't stand having windows barred. It amazed him every time Matt displayed one of his observations with a small question.

"Just shut the blinds. That's fine," he said.

With the blinds shut, Peter removed his mask, sighing. His body was tired from the sporadic bursts of adrenaline, and really all he wanted to do was sleep.

 

-.-

 

"So, how did it go?" Natasha turned his wrist, ignoring Clint's hiss of pain. "Well, it isn't broken. He must've been restraining himself." She reached into her bedside drawer and pulled out a wrap, binding the injury quickly and deftly.

"You know Daredevil?"

Natasha crooked a slim, red eyebrow. "We've had a few...interactions."

"Ah." Clint twisted away to lay down on the bed, and Natasha crawled over on top of him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before flopping down beside him.

"Need a friend?" she asked, fingers brushing up and down his neck. Clint leaned into the touch, and Natasha wrapped herself around him, burrowing her face in his neck. His arm tugged her closer.

Their cuddling was platonic, their kisses, their touches. But Clint needed  _something_ , and Phil was gone now. The person he trusted to hold close, to be held by, was gone. Sure, what he and Phil had was anything but platonic, but it was too soon, the wound too raw to jump into something that intense again. And Natasha? She understood that perfectly.

So they would cuddle, kiss, touch. It was lazy, always casual. No strings attached. They knew each other too well to fall in love.

 

-.-

 

"This contract is not something I want to sign." Nick Fury had a harsh stare, the lack of his left eye making it all the more intense.

Peter sat across from him, his knee tapping against the huge, oak desk between them as his leg bounced up and down from nerves. At least his voice was steady when he spoke. "So don't sign it. I'll walk away if you don't, but I can't force your hand."

Fury scoffed. "Damn right you can't. I cannot stop the Council from trying to find out your identity. I regretfully do not have the power to stop them from doing so, and they can override any of my commands. The publicity we would get for taking you on  _without_  researching your background would be bad, and not something we can afford."

"The publicity you'd get for openly hunting down Spiderman would be worse."

Fury's expression didn't change, but Peter knew he had won. Publicity issues were really the only arguments Fury could hold against him, and he had countered it quite well. Sure, the Council could do what they wanted, but Peter wasn't about to get worried about that. He could hide from them just fine.

"Sign it, or don't," Peter said. "But this is it. I will not be making this offer again. Whatever you decide now, defines the way we interact from here on out."

"You aren't afraid?" Fury asked. He leaned forward, his expression skeptical. "I will send the whole of the Avengers against you, and you're _willing_  to just accept that?"

"Send your Avengers, Fury. I'll take down as many as I can, and you can bet I won't go down quietly. I'm willing to have a compromise, but if you throw that back in my face and send your dogs after me, I'll kill them."

Fury chuckled. "You don't kill people, Spiderman. Everyone knows that."

"You've never seen me cornered, Nick Fury. You better hope you never do," Peter said.

He had killed. It was amazing SHIELD hasn't noticed. He didn't like that he had, but he'd do it again if he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was going to die. And if Fury sent the Avengers after him, he would most definitely die. It was just a matter of how many he took down with him.

"You're an interesting man." Fury sighed and leaned back in his chair. "I'll sign your contract, but let's be clear. I will not authorize any searching for your identity, but the Council will undoubtedly be following you for the rest of your life. Are you okay with that?"

"Fine. I'll take what I can get," Peter said.

Fury snorted, pulling out his pen and signing. "Welcome to the Avengers."

"Good to be here."

 

-.-

 

"Oh hey-"

Peter zapped Johnny's mouth full of web to stop him from saying his name. "Not a word about my name. I'm 90% sure SHIELD bugged me on my way out and I want you to check before we talk."

Johnny nodded and gestured at his mouth so Peter would remove the webbing. Peter did so and the fiery hero shook his head. "Can't believe you actually joined them."

"Can we get the bugs off first?"

The blond nodded and tugged Peter inside. Johnny lived on his own now, which Peter was happy about because Sue whined when he and Johnny got plastered and watched old Star Trek episodes once a month. The Baxter Building was still headquarters, but Johnny now had his own personal space, with all the Baxter Building's fancy equipment, including a lovely chemical that shorted out listening and video recording devices.

Johnny led him to the basement, opening a door to the right and shoving him inside. A dim light clicked on and a foul smelling steam rushed out from two nozzles in the ceiling, covering Peter completely. A minute later, the door opened and Johnny pulled him out, expression grim.

"47 bugs. How did you not notice them being put on you?"

"Because I was too busy being scared out of my mind," Peter said, whipping off his mask.

Johnny opened his arms and let Peter tumble into them, holding the man's shuddering form close. "I forget how much SHIELD scares you. Guess it feels like you sold your soul to the devil."

"Did that awhile ago. Fury is so much worse."

"Why didn't you go home to Matt?" Johnny asked, walking them back into the living area and easing them both down onto the couch as the lights flicked on automatically.

"Matt's busy tonight and he doesn't really...get my fear."

Peter didn't want to think about it. He didn't want to get worked up and full of worry like he always did when he thought about it, so he nestled further into Johnny's grip and closed his eyes. Johnny had known him longer than Matt, knew all of his fears and desires and where they had come from. Yeah, Johnny was straight as an arrow, but he knew that sometimes Peter just needed someone to hold him, and he was willing to be that guy. In Peter's mind, that's what made him such a good friend.

"Well they don't know who you are," Johnny said. "They won't be able to hold anything over your head if they don't know who you are."

"They'll find out. Only a matter of time."

"They haven't done it yet, stop freaking out. Mary Jane wouldn't like the way you're dealing with this."

"Fucking low blow." Peter pulled out of his grasp and began to pace around the room. "I got lucky there, but still lost everything."

"The guy was ex-SHIELD! You can't base all of SHIELD on one guy."

"He was still in SHIELD when he got the mission to follow me and get  _leverage_  on me so I could be manipulated! And he almost succeeded. The only reason he didn't is because he killed her!"

Johnny flopped back on the couch, expression exasperated. "Talk to Fury. Ask him about it. SHIELD isn't inherently bad, you've just got to start building up trust. They're on your side now, they're not going to try and piss you off. I promise."

"Not that easy." Peter pressed his forehead against the wall as he leaned against it, eyes closing. "I lost Mary Jane thanks to SHIELD. It's hard to just...forget that happened."

"I know it's hard," Johnny said. "But things are changing now, at least for you. It's better to just...try and get over it. It'll take awhile but don't reject the trust they extend."

Peter shook his head. "Matt should be home now. I'll go."

"Don't run away just because you don't like what I'm saying," Johnny said.

Peter walked past him, tugging his mask back on and heading up the stairs. As soon as he could, he shot his web up into the air, clinging to a building and swinging off to the apartment he sometimes shared with Matt. He thought of it as home, even if he lived in another area entirely. Maybe it was the whole 'home is where the heart is' thing, and it was obvious his heart was with Matt.

Or was it? No one really understood his reluctance. Johnny came close, but even then, it wasn't perfect. No one understood completely. Just as he was about to swing in through Matt's bedroom window, he paused, swinging back up onto the roof. Being alone sounded like a better idea.

 

-.-

 

"Trial run?"

Clint checked his gun once more before tucking it away. "Yup. Seeing as how your boyfriend decided to screw up my wrist, I need back up." He waved his arm at Peter.

Peter winced, hiding his face, even though Clint couldn't see it, behind the briefing papers Clint's handler had given them. It was child's play really, an utter waste of his talents to go with Clint on this mission. It was a simple capture mission, and Peter wasn't going to think about what they intended to do once they brought him in. Either way, Clint could probably handle himself just fine, even with a bum wrist.

"They just wanna see how you work in the field," Clint said. He gestured towards the desk Peter was standing beside. "There's a wrap in the top drawer, pass it to me."

Peter found it and almost handed it to him, but then grabbed Clint's forearm and began to wrap it himself. Clint's blue eyes widened in surprise at first, but then he let Peter do as he wanted. It was kind of a way for him to say he was sorry about what had happened, and when Clint met his eyes and smiled, he knew his message had been received.

"So I just follow behind you?" he asked as Clint opened the door out of his room and into the hallway of SHIELD headquarters.

"Yeah," Clint said, reaching into his pocket. "Here's a comm device, so you can hear anything I have to tell you. You can put it on when you feel like you can take your mask off." He handed the small hearing device to Peter as they stepped out into the sunlight. "You have your directions. I'll see you there."

Peter shoved the papers into a messenger bag and then handed it to Clint who took it with him to his car. In no time at all, Peter was swinging from rooftop to rooftop a safe distance behind the man as he drove out of the city. As they turned into the suburb, Peter had to fall further and further behind, taking to the trees to avoid detection.

Clint parked in a dead end street and got out, Peter's messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He looked nothing like a field agent, dressed in worn jeans and a black jacket, his wrist bound up tight by an off white wrap. But Peter had seen the man strap a bulletproof vest on underneath his jacket, and had seen the man in action enough to know he wasn't someone to mess with.

Especially if he had his bow with him.

But it was kind of his fault that Clint no longer had his weapon of choice with him. Clint had told him earlier that normally, he could just fire a few arrows through the man's windows, get him pinned down and go in and handle the situation from there. He hadn't gone face to face with a target in a long time.

"I need you to circle around to the back, tell me what you see," Clint's voice said in his ear as he continued down the street.

Peter obeyed without a word, slipping soundlessly through the trees and into the man's backyard, crouching carefully among the foliage. Their target was relaxed in his living room chair, a beer in one hand and a remote in the other, no doubt pointing at some T.V. out of Peter's line of sight.

"He's just chilling in his living room," Peter said.

"You read the file right?" Clint's voice crackled in his ear. "He's going to be ready for us, look closer."

Peter sighed and turned upside down, letting out a bit of a web to get a better angle to see into the room. Line upon line of monitors were mounted along the wall, each showing another room in the house and even the yard. He zipped back up into the tree.

"Uh, there's no way we're getting the jump on this guy. He probably already saw me," Peter said.

"Oh?"

"He's got cameras everywhere, and he's watching them now," Peter said. "So how do you wanna do this?"

"Seriously, have you looked at the file? Coulson gave us a..."

"Coulson?" Peter asked. "Isn't your handler's name Max?" Clint didn't respond, the only sound being ragged breathing on the other line. "Clint?"

"Just...give me a minute."

Peter walked closer to the trunk of the tree, leaning against it as he listened to Clint come undone on the other line, breathing rough. "Clint. What's wrong?"

"Fuck, just shut up."

Peter obeyed, and slowly but surely, the man's breathing regulated itself and he could hear Clint begin to start walking once more. He wanted to say something, wanted to make sure Clint was okay and that they could still do the mission, but the man had already told him to shut up once and he didn't want to make it worse.

"Okay, we're going to both go in at the same time. That's our best bet," Clint said. "I don't want to give him a chance to react."

"I can break the window and get him restrained before he sees you," Peter said. "Nice and quick."

"Go for it."

Peter shot a web at the roof and then swung down, breaking the window with his feet and shooting another web into the man's face. He gave a muffled scream, but there was a hunk of web in his mouth that made it a bit difficult to hear. He gave another quick shot of web to bind the man to his chair just as Clint walked into the room, gun pointed ahead of him, eyes dancing across the room.

His eyes weren't careful in their examination, and Peter could tell he wasn't on his game like he normally was. "Wanna grab him?"

"He's grabbed," Peter said, gesturing at the restrained man.

"Oh...I'll go get the car," Clint said, backing out of the room.

Peter nodded. "Yeah, you do that."

 

-.-

 

"We aren't going to mention what happened at the briefing," Clint said as he drove.

"Hey, if you don't want me to, I won't say a word," Peter said. "But don't they listen to the comm devices?"

"Not really, only if they think something went wrong."

"Look, are you okay man?"

Clint didn't take his eyes off the road, but his fingers tightened on the wheel. "You know when Loki came?"

"Yeah, I was bummed I wasn't able to join the party," Peter said.

"Well my old handler died there. He...was fighting Loki."

"Oh. damn." Peter leaned back in the seat, trying to process Clint's words. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize agents got so close to their handlers."

"Some people do," Clint said. "We were."

"Look, do you wanna grab a drink after this? I think you need to unwind a bit," Peter said.

"Uh...nah it's fine," Clint said. "I've got ways to de-stress."

"But Matt and I have the best methods," Peter said.

"What, crazy amounts of sex?" Clint said with a snort.

"Well, sometimes that's part of it," Peter said. "But I'm offering a drink, not my bed."

"Yeah, sure."

 

-.-

 

Peter frowned, brushing the back of his knuckles across Clint's cheek. The man was passed out completely on the couch, empty beer bottle dangling from the fingertips of his good hand. Matt sat in the chair to the left of them, flipping through channels aimlessly.

"He's had it rough," Matt said.

"Yeah. Doesn't talk much about it," Peter said. "Surprised he said anything to me at all."

"Well, he knows who you are, maybe he knows he can trust you now that you have to trust him," Matt said.

"I want to help him," Peter said, glancing over at Matt. Matt's face was turned to him, eyebrows quirked up.

"You always want to help people," Matt said.

"Can't argue with that," Peter said.

"So you think he and his handler had something going on or what?"

"You don't get that choked up over just a friend."

Matt frowned, and Peter could read his expression perfectly. It was the expression that said,  _You would know_. Peter had lost quite a few significant others, he was practically an expert on what it felt like to lose people.

"I have a big case tomorrow," Matt said, getting to his feet. "You wanna stay out here with him?"

"I'll come to bed with you," Peter said, pulling his hand away. "Just let me grab him a blanket or something."

Clint didn't stir as Peter pulled a blanket over him and then turned the lights off. When he got into the bedroom though, Matt tugged him forward, sealing his lips over the younger's. Peter accepted the heated kiss, shutting the door behind them as Matt's hands ran over his sides, bunching up the shirt.

"The...fuck...Matttt..." His words ended in a moan as Matt nipped at his neck and yanked his shirt over his head.

"I don't care if there's another man next door, I want you now," Matt said, his voice a growling husk.

Peter didn't protest, he never could when Matt's demanding hands grabbed his hips and urged him up and around his waist. Their arousals ground together as Matt carried him towards the bed, teeth nipping at wherever they could get purchase. Matt was all about teeth and dominance, working over Peter the way he wanted, bringing Peter to the edge over and over again only to let him down. Flushed and panting, Peter stared up at Matt.

It always happened this way. He would be naked, spread out for Matt's hands and mouth as the other stood above him, fully clothed. It sent some kind've thrill through him to have Matt dominant him the way he did, but it was not like he ever had a real choice. That's just the way their sex life had been from the very beginning.

Matt dragged a hand up his leg, fingers trailing over his balls in a teasing manner that had Peter bucking his hips up for more, but Matt didn't give it to him. Instead, he grabbed Peter's other leg and began to lip and bite at it, working his way up. Fist in Matt's hair, Peter urged his mouth towards his cock, but Matt just blew on the tip and continued on to his other leg, working his way down to his ankle.

"Matt, please..."

Matt stood and undid his tie, letting it fall on the ground before taking his sunglasses off as well. Moonlight streamed in through the window, playing with Matt's stern features as he stripped. The sight always left Peter breathless. As Matt crawled over him, an all too familiar feeling built up in his chest, urging him to arch up and kiss the older hero.

Matt's touch softened then as he trailed his fingers up Peter's side, the kiss slow and languid. He broke the kiss as Peter began to shake in his grasp, expression puzzled.

"You're crying," he said, fingers brushing the tears away.

Peter just shook his head and tugged Matt down for another kiss. "Just love me."

Matt nodded into the kiss and did just that.

 

-.-

 

Peter's heart clenched as Matt slid his bag over his shoulder and grabbed his walking stick. He got off the bar stool and followed him towards the door, his hand wrapping around Matt's wrist. Matt turned to face him, frowning once more as Peter wrapped him up in a hug.

"What's gotten into you?"

Peter shook his head, burying his face in Matt's chest. "Be careful today, alright? Something just feels...off."

The pace of Matt's heart sped up a bit, and he could only hear it because of the way his ear was pressed to the other's chest. He knew without a doubt that Matt could hear the way his was racing, anxiety thrumming in his blood. Matt placed a warm hand at Peter's lower back.

"If you say so," Matt said. Anyone else, the words would have been patronizing, but this was Matt, and Matt always took him seriously. Matt would be careful. "Goodbye, Peter."

"Bye," Peter said, stepping back and staring up into Matt's eyes, wishing not for the first time that Matt could see him. "I love you." It has been awhile since he had said that, too long maybe.

"I love you too." Matt kissed him, soft, loving.

As he left, Peter felt tears building up in his throat once more, but instead he beat them down and went to go make Clint coffee for when he woke up.

 

-.-

 

When Clint woke up, it was with a raging hangover that Peter was ready to help dispel with water, pills, and coffee. After a shower and food, he was feeling much better, but something was off about Peter, the way he jerked whenever Clint walked into the room.

"You know I can leave," Clint said as Peter dropped the remote when he emerged from the kitchen. "I figure I've overstayed my welcome."

"No, no, it's fine." Peter frowned at the T.V., which was still off even after the amount of times Peter had almost turned it on. "You can stay as long as you want."

Clint sat down next to him, frowning. "Is something wrong?"

Peter's hands were shaking, hazel eyes unfocused. "Just..."

A knock on the door interrupted them and Peter jumped to his feet, racing to the door. Clint watched as he opened it, revealing a police officer. The hand at Peter's side was clenched in a fist, trembling.

"Are you...Peter Parker?" the man asked, frowning down at his notepad.

"Yes."

"I regret to inform you that your...significant other, Matt Murdock was killed in his office today by a um...toothpick," the officer said, frowning down at his notes. "You can come down to the station with me now if you'd like to get more details and start his funeral arrangements."

"...Me?"

"You're the next of kin according to this," the man said. "Well, there was another man, Franklin Nelson, but he was also killed in a similar incident."

Clint got to his feet as the door cracked beneath Peter's harsh grip, shouldering Peter out of the way. "We'll be down at the station when we can. Thank you." He shoved Peter back and slammed the door shut, wanting to say something, anything, but Peter had already driven his good fist into the wall.

"I knew this was going to happen."

"What?"

"This always happens. I was hoping...for longer."

"What's going on?"

"Just...leave Clint."

"But Matt-"

"I said leave dammit!"

"You can't be alone right now."

"Shut up."

Peter kicked the table and stormed into the bedroom. Not even a minute later, he re-emerged as Spiderman and was swinging out of the window, leaving Clint standing alone in his apartment. After a moment, Clint pulled his cellphone out, calling Natasha.

"Spiderman's been compromised. Should I chase him down?" he asked. His voice was strained, even to his ears, and Natasha no doubt picked up on it.

"Compromised how?"

"His...some of his family just died, and from the sounds of it, by Bullseye."

"Help him."

"Natasha..."

"If you can chase him down, do it," Natasha said. "I won't tell anyone about this call if you can stop him from doing something stupid."

"Thank you."

 

-.-

 

When Peter ended up at Auntie May's front door, he couldn't bring himself to care that he had probably just blown his identity sky high. Mask wet from his tears, he yanked it off as Auntie May opened the front door, gasping and tugging him inside.

"Peter! What are you doing?" she asked, hurrying to sit him down at a table and poor him a class of water. "Out and about in your suit, crying, what-"

"Matt's dead."

She stilled, face paling almost as white as her hair, hand shaking. Slowly, she set the pitcher of water down. "Peter..."

"Auntie?"

The voice was one of a child, unsure and scared, bottom lip trembling, eyes glassy. Auntie May, just as she always did, knew what to do. She hugged him tight, and didn't let him go.

 

-.-

 

Peter tugged the blankets over his head as Auntie May left the room. For the last two hours, he had been switching from lifeless to a sobbing mess, and was mildly horrified by his reactions. He wasn't supposed to be the broken one, the weak one. He was supposed to take care of everyone else.

The doorbell rang and he heard the footsteps of someone walking inside, followed by the soft murmuring of voices. The creak of the steps, then his door opened and in walked Johnny Storm, expression grim. Peter shifted and turned to face the wall, but Johnny just shut the door, slipped under the covers and tugged him close.

"I know you don't want me to see you like this, but I'm your friend Peter, and I've been with you through everything," Johnny said, his voice loud in the oppressing silence.

"This is worse."

"I know."

"He..."

"I know."

"We were going to get married."

Johnny stiffened beside him, hands tightening around Peter. "I'm sorry."

"We didn't want to tell anyone until I figured out what I was doing with the Avengers. We've been planning for a few months."

"Peter..."

"I guess I'm just being stupid. We're super heroes. We don't live long. I know that. I should've known that. Everyone I've ever loved dies. I should stop." The words were hard to get out at first, but once they started, they wouldn't stop. "Mary Jane, Gwen, everyone. It's always my fault. Before long...Auntie May too. Fuck I never even took out the god damn comm-"

Peter scrabbled at his ear, the near invisible device having slipped his mind completely.

"It's okay," Clint's voice crackled into his ear. "I got Tony to hack into the system and erase everything. Your secret is safe."

"Clint?"

Johnny rubbed his arm.

"Get some rest. I watched you on your way back. No one saw you but me, I promise."

The comm shut off then and Peter finished digging it out of his ear, crushing it in one hand and throwing it across the room. If he still had it, that meant it had been running last night when he and...Peter shut his brain off and turned into Johnny's embrace.

Clint had covered him. It was okay. Not now. But it would be. He always bounced back. Always.

Except maybe not this time.

 

-.-

 

Clint collapsed into Natasha's grip when he arrived at his room. She had been waiting for him since he had arrived back at the tower and gone to talk to Tony. He looked stressed and worn, and like he could go for a week-long nap.

"Did you help him?" Nat asked, unwrapping his wrist and then undoing his shirt and tossing it on the ground.

"Protected his privacy, don't think I could do much more for him at this point," Clint said.

Nat was already dressed for sleep, and by dressed he meant completely nude because if clothes weren't necessary, she didn't use them. When he was dressed down to his boxers, she practically shoved him into bed. "Do you need me?"

"Yeah." Clint flopped one arm over his eyes, not wanting to look needier than he already was.

Even if Natasha wouldn't judge him. "Are you sure? I think you need some alone time."

Clint held his other arm out and crooked a finger at her, smirking when she sighed and pulled herself onto the bed beside him, wrapping herself around him like always.

"Remind you of Coulson I take it?" she said.

She always cut to the chase, even if hearing his name made him flinch. "Yeah. It was his lover and from what I heard before Tony cut it off, they were getting married soon."

"Sucks to be him. You realize he's going to have to work when Fury asks, depression or not, right?" she said, trailing a hand down his neck. "If he takes a leave now after a super villain goes on a hit an run mission...all Fury will have to do is check out the victim's friends and family."

"Yeah. I'll be there for him if he needs it, but he didn't seem to keen on me talking to him," Clint said. "But Fury is going to be calling us in soon because I have another capture mission."

"Already? He's not giving you any time to recover," Nat said. "Fury's an ass."

"But we work for him."

"Remind me why we do that?"

Clint rolled over, grinning as he slid his arm over her mouth to shut her up. He was going to move away again, really, but then sleep tugged at his mind and pulled him under. When Natasha flailed beneath him, he didn't stir, and eventually she let herself fall asleep under his comforting weight.

 

-.-

 

The arm around his waist was warm and possessive, comforting. The chest at his back practically radiated heat and like always, it made him feel safe. Until the hand shifted and he realized it wasn't Matt's, and when he opened his eyes and realized he was in his old bed.

"Peter," Johnny murmured, rubbing his hand up and down the man's stomach. "Go back to sleep, okay? I'm going to go help Auntie May make breakfast."

"Yeah." Peter pulled the covers over his head and curled up tighter as Johnny left the room. He was unable to drift into sleep though, for the next moment, the SHIELD issued phone (who's tracker he had removed) in his pocket went off. He pulled it out and swallowed his rising tears. "Hello?"  
"We're going to need you to come in today for another search and capture mission. We expect you to be at SHIELD headquarters at 1000 hours." The call cut off and Peter rolled onto his side, eyes straining to see the numbers past the strain of sleep and tears.

It was 9:30.

In moments, he was on his feet, pushing his negative thoughts to the background as he flew out into the hallway. "I'm skipping on breakfast, got a mission, bye!"

"Peter?" Johnny called back up, but Peter was already tugging his mask on and swinging out the window.

When he arrived at headquarters, it was to a flurry of noise and organized panic with agents running up and down the crowded halls. All in all, it looked like too much trouble to be worth it, and he was tempted to run out the door and go hide. But he was here, and the chaos would make it so he didn't have to think, and that was what he needed most.

"Hey you, kid in the weird suit, follow me," an agent called out, beckoning him deeper into the building.

"Uh, I'm here to work on a mission-"

"All missions are suspended until we deal with this threat," the man said, grabbing his wrist and shoving him into a conference room.

Peter froze as the door shut behind him, heart lurching into his throat. A long, black table was at the center of the room, chairs on either side with one at the far end. The ones on the right contained Thor, Captain America, and Tony Stark, with the left side filled with Natasha, Clint, and a hunched over man in glasses, fingers tapping out an odd rhythm on the oak table.

"Uh. Hi," he said, giving a small wave. "I don't know what I'm doing here."

"Sit down," Fury ordered, his one eyed gaze penetrating.

Peter obeyed. "Sorry."

"As I was saying, we need to move as swiftly as possible. We do not have any information on this mutant, but I expect Captain Rogers to be able to assess the situation properly and do what is necessary."

"Okay so if speed is important here, why am I still sitting at this table?" Tony stood up and clapped his hands together once. "Chop, chop kiddies."

"I will kill you one day," Steve said, pulling his helmet/mask/thing down on his face.

"Yeah sure, see you there." Tony stopped as he passed Peter, his gaze going from disinterested to intrigued all at once. "Good to see you, kid."

"Thanks."

The Avengers all began to file out of the room and as Captain America walked by, he shoved a file into his hands.

"Can you read while you swing, Spiderman?" he asked, looking down at him with a firm blue stare.

"Yeah, where am I headed?"

"Central Park. That file has your original mission before we got distracted. You'll head there once we've neutralized the situation," he said.

"Whoa, that's a little harsh, isn't it?" Clint said, scrambling towards them.

"Agent Barton, do not try and weasel out of your own mission," Fury ordered as he got to his feet. "All of you, out of my sight."

Peter got to his feet, flipping open his file as he walked out of the room, Clint on his heels. He followed Captain America down the hall and out the front door, but before he could shoot a web into the air, Clint grabbed his wrist.

Clint looked a little stunned when he actually stopped and turned to look at him, but quickly got himself together. "I can do the mission on my own, if you need me to. Like, I get if you need to get some rest."

"Work is the best thing for me," Peter said. "But thanks."

Understanding seeped into Clint's gaze and he gave a quick nod before releasing him and following after the others.

 

-.-

 

The mutant tearing its way through Central Park was pretty generic as far as mutants went. Not to say it was a knock over. It was tearing up trees and hurling them at anything that moved, which resulted in Peter being on catching-anything-that-was-going-to-kill-something duty.

By the end of the battle, he felt pretty useless, but he didn't let himself think about that and instead headed for the next destination. He got there before Clint and had the man trussed up in a tight web by the time the agent had walked in through the front door. Clint shoved his gun back in its holster as he approached him.

"You've been quite productive," Clint said.

"Yeah well..." Peter couldn't think of anything to say, no quips, no snarky remarks, nothing.

"The mission was small enough that Rogers took care of the debriefing," Clint said. "Why don't you stay with me for now? I don't think you should be alone right now."

"What the hell would you know?" Peter kicked their mark, knowing it wasn't right but unable to contain the mess of emotions festering inside his chest. "You don't know me at all."

"You'd be surprised what I know," Clint said, looking down and then up through his eyelashes, a flash of vulnerability Peter hadn't been expecting. "Just let me do this for you."

"I should go home."

"Go home after," Clint said. "You were there for me, let me do the same. Think of it as a debt I'm trying to pay off."

Peter shook his head. "I've got things to do." He tugged the mask back enough to reach his hand up inside it, tug out the comm device and crush it in his hand. "I'll see you around."

Clint moved faster than he thought, grabbing his wrist and dragging him into the other room so they wouldn't have to keep talking around their mark. "Let me go with you. I don't want you to be alone right now."

"Agent Barton, you don't know me well enough to care," Peter said. "You have to be getting something out of this, and I'm not interested in your help if it isn't genuine."

"What makes you think I'm getting anything out of this?" Clint backed way from him.

"I know people like you," Peter said, unable to keep the harsh scoff out of his voice. "You help other people when you're upset to make yourselves feel better. Not interested."

Clint frowned. "That's not true, but I'll stop."

"Yeah, thanks."

Maybe on some level, Peter meant it, but his emotions were moving too fast for him to bother analyzing.

 

-.-

 

The next few days passed in a haze of funeral preparations while still working as an Avenger. The funeral itself was small, him, his Aunt, and Natasha Ramanova. He was actually surprised to see one of the Avengers there, and couldn't help but spend the entire funeral in a state of jumpy nerves.

As they headed out of the building, the urn with Matt's ashes cradled in his hands, Natasha moved to stand in front of him, her head cocked to the side. Red curls fell in front of one eye, but the remaining visible one was piercing in its stare. In that moment, he knew that she knew who he was, and his stomach turned to lead.

"So you're the famous Peter Parker," she said. "Matt talked a lot about you."

"Didn't say a word about you," Peter said.

Natasha flicked her hair out of her face. "But I think we've met."

"Can't say we have," Peter said.

"Oh. My mistake." Her gaze said she didn't believe him one bit, but she let it go and walked away, leaving him and his Aunt to stand at the entrance of the funeral home.

"Are you going to come home for dinner?" Auntie May asked, wrapping an arm around Peter's waist as they headed for her car. "Johnny is still there."

"He should go home," Peter said.

"Oh, he just cares about you," she said, patting his arm.

He kissed her cheek and pulled away. "I've got to go talk to Matt's old lawyer about his will. He finally was able to get it from the bank he had it locked away in."

Auntie May's eyebrows rose. "Well that should certainly be interesting. Stop by after that, alright?"

"I'll see what I can do."

Auntie May got into her car, giving him a careful stare that said she expected him to be there or she'd come hunting him down herself. He kissed her cheek once more and shut the door, waving to her as she pulled out of the parking lot. Sighing, he turned towards the street. The coffee place Matt's lawyer was meeting him at was a small shop about two blocks away so he could walk.

As he walked, he placed the urn carefully in his messenger bag so it wouldn't be showing. He and Matt had never discussed their wills together, even though they both had them made early and had gone together to modify them as time went on. As Peter lost those he cared about, his will had changed, and now that Matt was gone, he was going to have to change it again. But to his knowledge, Matt had only changed his once, after they had realized how serious their relationship was.

When he walked in, Ethan Johnson was sitting at a table with papers spread out over every inch of it, his coffee in his hands. Ethan was a lot like Matt, red hair, broad shouldered, but he had soft features, not the chiseled jaw that Peter was used to seeing. Peter sat down, tucking his messenger back between his feet.

"So is this all of it?" he asked.

Ethan raised his eyebrows. "This is quite a large will."

"Mine's bigger," Peter said. "So what does all of it mean? I don't think you intended for me to read through all of this."

"This is just a copy, and I highlighted the important parts," Ethan said, shuffling a few papers. "Here's how much money he had in his savings account." He pointed to a highlighted number in the 9-digit realm that practically made Peter's heart stop. "All of this goes to you, and has already been transferred."

"Um, some of its going to pay off debts right?" Peter asked, mouth dry.

Ethan snorted. "Matt Murdock didn't  _have_  debts. The payment on his house is taken care of, and rent for the next month is paid for on his apartment as well. These all go to you as well."

"I think I need a drink," Peter said. "I didn't even know he had a house."

Ethan crooked an eyebrow up. "It's just outside of the city, a small ranch. You are more than welcome to sell it if you wish to add to the fortune he's left you."

"No, that's fine..." Peter took a deep breath. "So what does this mean for me?"

"You pay more in taxes," Ethan said with a shrug. "That's it really."

"Are there any limitations on how I spend it?" he asked.

"No, everything Matthew Murdock owned is now yours," Ethan said. "I guess he really liked you."

"We were going to get married." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, and his gaze jerked down to escape the man's judgment.

For a moment, Ethan was silent, but then one of his hands was resting lightly over Peter's. "I'm sorry for your loss. Matt was a good friend of mine, but I never really...knew much about his private life."

"He's kind of a secretive man," Peter said. "Or was."

"Look, legally, everything is taken care of," Ethan said. "Matt told me, last time he changed his will, that if he were ever to die, he wanted me to take care of everything so that those he left behind wouldn't have to, and I've done just that. All you have to worry about is recovering."

"So is it okay if I never spend this?" Peter asked.

"Like I said, it belongs only to you now," Ethan said. "Why you wouldn't spend it, I don't know. But I can help you pick a place to invest it if you want."

"...Maybe later. I still need to catch my breath," Peter said.

"Yeah, of course. You have my number."

Peter nodded and collected the copy of Matt's will. He would read all of it later, when he had time. "I guess that's it then."

"There's still the investigation," Ethan said. "As the next of kin, you are entitled to information they discover, if you want it. I can help you there as well if you want."

"No that's fine," Peter said.  _I have other methods._

"Oh there is one other thing," Ethan said, getting to his feet as well and searching around his brief case. He pulled out a letter. "It's unopened, and addressed to you. I can't legally open it, as it goes to you in the will."

Peter took it, gingerly, then place it in his own bag. "Thank you, for everything."

Ethan nodded and smiled. "It'll get better, Peter."

"That's what I tell myself."

 

-.-

 

"So...Peter Parker is Spiderman," Natasha said.

"Um." Clint stared at her, wide eyed.

They were at Stark Tower, the only place where SHIELD not listening in was guaranteed, sharing some badly microwaved food in Clint's bedroom. That didn't mean he was okay with discussing Peter when Tony was no doubt listening to every word.

"I'm surprised it took me so long to figure it out," she said. "But I was at Daredevil's funeral today, because I was on his list of people to contact in the event of his death. We go way back, and I knew he was dating a cute little journalist, and good friends with Spiderman. Why didn't I see it sooner?"

"Nat, you can't...tell anyone about this," Clint said, setting his tray of food on the bedside table. "He's got to protect the remaining family he has."

"I'm just saying I'm surprised," she said around a mouthful of food. "He really hides all those muscles well when he's being well, normal." She fixed him a stern look. "And you know me, Clint. My lips are sealed."

Clint leaned back against his headboard, brow furrowed from worry. "Did he look okay?"

Natasha raised a slim red eyebrow. "Do I detect a bit of care in your heart, Hawkeye?"

Clint was too tired to glare at her. "I should be asking you that."

Natasha wiped her mouth on her napkin and folded her legs beneath her. "You just want to help someone so you don't have to bother helping yourself, don't you? That's just like you." Despite her words, she smiled.

"You know, he said the same thing today," Clint said. "When I offered to help him. I swear that's not it, Nat. I just understand what he's going through and want to help."

"You can't help him when you can't even help yourself," Natasha said. He opened his mouth to protest, but Natasha held up a finger to cut him off. "But, maybe you can help each other. Just be careful with whatever it is you're doing."

Clint looked down. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know how to help people, but I want to. All I know is how to kill."

Natasha patted his knee with a sigh. "We weren't hired for our ability to work with people. We all lived messed up lives. We get pieced together and broken and pieced together again so many times I'm surprised it isn't in the job description. Peter's just like us though. Spiderman's past lovers have been known, Mary Jane and Gwen Stacey. Everyone knows that they were murdered by Spiderman's enemies, so it isn't a surprise that they went out of their way to keep this relationship a secret."

"What are you trying to say, Nat?"

"I'm saying that you shouldn't go looking for a relationship with a man who has had everyone he's ever cared about murdered. Daredevil is not a man to be reckoned with, and given the details of his death, I'd bet my finest bottle of whiskey that it was Bullseye." Natasha leaned back. "So. Don't go after a relationship with him."

"What, you think I'm going to die?" Clint glanced away, scoffing.

"No, I'm saying, he's not going to be interested and I don't want you to get hurt," Natasha said. "Doesn't help that fate has something against the kid and is killing off everyone he knows."

"I don't want to get with him, Nat," Clint said. "I just want to help him."

"So you say, but I know you," Natasha said, crawling closer so that he couldn't avoid her gaze. "You allow yourself to get close and you're going to want all of him, just like you wanted all of me, the way you wanted all of Coulson."

"You make it sound like I treated you two like conquests," Clint said, shoving her back. "That's not how it is."

"Oh I know that. You were with me until I no longer needed you. You were with Coulson until the day he died, and if you and Peter were ever a thing, you'd probably be with him until death tore you apart," Natasha said. She slid up onto his lap and wrapped herself around him. "You're like a puppy, Clint. Loyal until the end."

His fingers shifted her hair to the side and trailed over her neck. "I'm not interested in sex with him, Nat, really. I just want to help him. Not looking for a relationship, not now."

"Still too early," she said, biting his ear and one hand sliding up his chest. "But not too early for this."

His hands, large and warm slid over her ass and hiked her up to straddle his waist as her lips met his. Her body was soft and curved, nothing like the hard planes he had been used to with Coulson, but he wasn't looking for a replacement. Never a replacement. Phil would always have a place in his heart, a place bigger than people thought it would be. But Natasha had her own spot and she knew that.

She growled into the kiss.

Yeah, she knew.

-.-

"I can't believe you want to donate half the fortune Matt left you," Johnny said, sipping at his beer as the credits of the last Star Trek episode began to run.

"I don't need that much money," Peter said.

"So besides the money, house, and apartment, what else did he leave you?"

The letter Ethan had given him practically burned in his pocket. "Nothing. I'm just in awe that he left me that much. I didn't think..."

"Alright, enough heavy thoughts," Johnny said, reaching into the cooler he had put beside the couch. He shoved another beer into Peter's hand. "Star Trek isn't right unless you're totally plastered, so get to it."

Peter shook his head, but accepted the beer anyways.

 

-.-

 

Four days later, Peter still hadn't read Matt's letter. It sat on the dresser that still contained a mixture of both of their clothes. He had been going through it, slowly, but surely, taking out Matt's clothes and stowing them in paper bags to take down to Goodwill. There was still more to do of course, but he knew he couldn't let Matt's presence linger, not even in the apartment they had once shared. If Matt lingered, he'd never let him go.

He had shoved Mary Jane and Gwen out as quickly as possible when they had died. It hurt, but he didn't have time to mourn. There was always another battle to fight, there still was even with Matt gone. Matt was murdered, and so was his best friend, Foggy. Peter was now an Avenger, so it was only right that he avenged them.

And really? A toothpick? It was like Bullseye was screaming for Peter to go attack him.

But that was just it. For some reason, Bullseye was after him. Peter had seen the trick be pulled too many times to be fooled again, but that didn't mean he couldn't turn the tables on Bullseye when he finally found him. Sure, he was curious as to why Bullseye was after him, but that didn't matter. He'd get his revenge, and thanks to Matt's contract, he didn't have to worry about SHIELD yelling at him for acting out of orders.

Since he had started working for SHIELD, he hadn't stopped going out at night to patrol. He had even run into Natasha a few times, though she never let on that she was out fighting crime when they were on official SHIELD business. In fact, he hadn't talked to her much at all, even after the funeral.

Really, he should've already opened the letter and read it, but it was almost as if doing that would be admitting that Matt was really, truly gone. So it sat unread on his dresser.

 

-.-

 

Two weeks passed, and Clint was down in the firing range, testing his ability with his bow. His wrist still gave a twinge of pain every once and awhile, but for the most part, it held steady and strong. He was making his marks just fine, though he knew if his wrist were stronger he'd be doing better. If he got checked by the doctor again, he had no doubt that he'd be able to work in the field alone once more.

Not that he minded working with Peter. Over time, Peter had relaxed into a joking partner he could banter with while on the job. He had discovered that the man was an odd sort of blend between Steve and Tony: snarky and sarcastic, but full of justice and the unfailing conviction that good always triumphed over evil. Tony was too jaded for that kind of thinking, and so was Clint.

Peter was just an odd paradox, believing that in the end, things would turn out alright, even if he griped and whined through the present. It was admirable really, to expect the best even when all the cards he had been dealt were the worst. Clint had his own bad cards to deal with, and they had left him jaded, scarred, the memory of the pain always lurking and preventing Clint from ever thrusting himself into anything wholeheartedly.

"Looks like you got the bow back," Peter said.

Clint didn't jump, not even when he noticed Peter was hanging upside down by a thread of webbing beside him. "Yup. Should be passing my exam to work on my own in the next few days. Why're you here?"

"Weekly sparring with the Captain. We have some similar powers, so it's an interesting match for us both," Peter said, breaking the web to stand beside him. "You know, I've been thinking of giving my identity to SHIELD, finally."

"Oh?"

Peter hadn't seemed disgruntled, wearing his full suit whenever he was in SHIELD headquarters as he was now, and he had seemed so convinced that no one could ever know his identity. It was an odd change.

"Well, the only person I have left is Auntie May, and I've been thinking that if I could convince Stark to let me move her into his tower, she'd have all the protection she'd need from my enemies," Peter said.

Clint let another arrow loose, smiling to himself when it split his previous arrow in half, sinking deep into the target. "I see."

"But I have one more person to take out before I do that," he said. "I know who killed Daredevil." Another arrow sunk into Clint's target. "Bullseye."

"Thanks."

"No, I meant Bullseye killed Daredevil."

Clint coughed and looked away from Peter's unreadable expression. Damn mask. "Oh, sorry. Well, is SHIELD after him or something?"

"No. But I'm allowed to do what I want, it's in my contract," Peter said. "I just...wanted to tell someone."

Clint's eyes narrowed. "This sounds strangely like you plan on doing something stupid and self-sacrificing. Should I be stopping you right about now?"

"No. Well...not entirely yes. Bullseye is a tough opponent, and I don't kill people." Peter gave a low chuckle. "As Fury keeps reminding me. It's going to be a dangerous fight and I guess I just wanted someone to know I'm going after him."

"You have closer friends." Clint lowered his bow, turning to face Peter completely. "You could've told them instead of me."

"Yeah, you're right. But they're also a bit hot-headed and would be locking me in their basement until they were convinced I was done being insane," Peter said. "And you're my next closest friend after that guy."

"That's really sad." The words were out before Clint could stop them, and he sighed as he looked down to avoid Peter's gaze once more, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I mean...yeah I'm not digging this hole any deeper." Clint looked up then, propping his bow against the wall so he could fold his arms across his chest. "Do you want me to go with you?"

"Can you?" Peter wasn't asking for him to go, it wasn't that. He just didn't think Clint was even allowed to act without his handler saying 'go'.

"I can do what I want with my personal life, if I'm not breaking any laws," Clint said. "If you need me to, I'm there."

Peter stared at him. "Why don't you swing by my place tonight. I think we need to have a talk."

Clint smiled. "I think we do."

 

-.-

 

"What?"  
"I can't have you...be there openly," Peter said.

Clint set his beer on the table. "Can't say I understand why not." It was certainly a turn of events given Peter's earlier enthusiasm to have him along. When he had arrived at the apartment, he had been surprised to see bags filled with old clothes piled by the door, but hadn't bothered to comment on it. He looked back at Peter.

The journalist squirmed on the couch under his gaze. Natasha had been right. Peter Parker was  _quite_  good at hiding all his muscle under baggy t-shirts and jackets. He was very unassuming without his mask, insecure and questioning himself. Spiderman, it seemed, really was a whole new identity that Peter took on when he was fighting crime.

"Bullseye is obviously out to get me," Peter said. "And if he knows you're there, he'll come after you. I don't want that to happen, but a little back up might be nice in case I...get into trouble."

"Are you expecting to get into trouble?" Clint asked.

"Bullseye was Matt's enemy, not mine. Matt was a lot stronger than me, and more than once Bullseye has beaten him. I don't really stand a chance to be honest," Peter said. "But if there's a small chance, I want to take it."

Peter was determined. Anyone with eyes could see that.

"So you catch him, he gets locked away," Clint said, folding his arms over his chest. "Then what? He breaks out again. They always do."

"You think I don't know that?" Peter turned away from him, clenching his fist to resist the urge to punch the wall. "But I have to do something."

"Just wait for him to get the attention of SHIELD," Clint said. "They'll probably take him out, hell, you might even get lucky and be one of the people picked to go on the mission."

"Yeah? And how many people does he have to kill before it gets that bad? I can't stand around and wait for him to kill innocent civilians."

"He's already on SHIELD's list," Clint said. "If you would just be patient-"

"Being patient gets people killed."

Clint swished his beer bottle, as though he kept twirling it, it would magically refill itself. "Do you even know where he's located right now?"

Peter shook his head. "No. I figure he'll make himself known eventually. You did get checked by Stark right?" The journalist ran a hand down his face, eyes tired and frustrated, signs that he was angry he had talked so much without making sure Clint wasn't bugged first. Attention to detail could reveal a lot about a person.

"Of course I did. I'm not new to SHIELD's more...unsavory aspects. Ever since Stark joined our team I've been having him wipe me of bugs when I leave work," Clint said. "Besides, I'm technically acting without permission, and what SHIELD doesn't know, won't hurt them."

Peter just sighed and leaned back on the couch. "You don't have to do this Clint. I just wanted someone to know, not someone to help me. I'm not looking to get you fired or killed or whatever SHIELD does to employees that piss them off."

Clint shrugged with a grin. "I think you'd prefer if I didn't tell you what SHIELD does."

"Fair enough," Peter said.

Clint leaned forward on his knees. "Like I said, I'm off duty, right now. SHIELD doesn't always control me, so let me do what I can to help you now. I'd prefer if you got out of this one alive." Peter didn't respond. "Unless, of course, you don't want to get out of this alive?"

"Wasn't high on the priority list to be honest," Peter said.

"What, just because one guy died, you can't go on living?" Clint shook his head, eyes swimming with a mixture of anger and disbelief.

"No, it's not  _just_  that," Peter said, his voice almost a snarl as he got to his feet. "Try everyone I've ever loved being ripped from my hands no matter what I do to save them. Contrary to what seems to be popular belief, I actually don't like being alone. I enjoy people, they just get killed off too fast to bother."

"So what's the plan then? Kill this Bullseye-"

"I don't kill people!"

"Then waste away, wait for someone to come by and put you out of your misery, become a super villain, be overcome by guilt and drink yourself to death? Well, which one is it?" With each word, Clint was stepping closer and closer, invading Peter's space until Peter was pressed up against a wall, his defiant expression slipping away and revealing the person Clint had been struggling to see beneath it all.

The small, insecure journalist who only ever wanted to live his life but his powers, his responsibility, just wouldn't let him. Clint took a step back as Peter let out a deep, choked breath, eyes widening.

"I think you need a moment to calm down," Clint said, keeping his voice quiet. "What do you need me to do?"

"God you're right. You're right, what am I doing?" The words left Peter in a breathless whine, and from the glazed look, he didn't know he was talking.

"It's fine, Peter, come on, listen to me," Clint said. He moved forward again and grabbed Peter's shoulders to keep the man standing up right instead of crumpling and folding in on himself. "Let's go sit down and talk about this rationally now alright?"

Peter jerked forward then, wrapping himself around the archer and clinging to him tightly as he began to shake.

"I think, this might be the moment where you've realized how wrong everything is," Clint said quietly. It was scary how light Peter was in his arms, barely any weight at all really. "And I think you need to have a nice, long nap and forget all this nonsense about revenge."

"But I have to do something." The words were hissed out against his neck, and Clint frowned, wrapping his arms tighter around the younger hero.

"Yeah, you do, but charging into battle and hoping that you get killed isn't a good idea. When you can think clearer, really think, I'm totally on board with helping you in any way I can," Clint said. He began to walk them backwards towards the bedroom, pressing soothing circles into the other's back. "Peter, how old are you?"

"What?"

Clint eased him down onto the bed so that he was sitting, back against the headboard. "How old are you?"

Peter shot him a look, bowing his head a moment later. "22 next week."

"Holy shit." Clint eased himself down into a nearby chair. "I thought you were older, man."

"That's what a lot of people say," Peter said.

Clint watched as Peter drew his legs up close to his chest, resting his forehead between the two. "I got into it young too but...you've been fighting since you were in high school. You never got a chance to...be a kid."  _I didn't either but that might be for different reasons._

"It's better now," Peter mumbled. "Before I just got bullied but then I became Spiderman and it...helped a lot."

"You shouldn't have to deal with this much death." Clint rubbed his hands together. He wasn't that good at comforting people, but Peter didn't have anyone else. Natasha and Coulson...he'd known how to comfort them, but he had known them years, been able to figure out what worked and what didn't work. He had known Peter for a few weeks.

"I'm not a kid," Peter said.

"I know. But it isn't right. I guess I've been treating you as an agent and you're not," Clint said. "I don't mean this in a bad way but...you aren't as tough as we are. You break differently."

"Hm?" Peter looked up, his eyes swollen as he rested his cheek on his knees. He gazed at Clint, curiosity in his eyes.

"Well...this woman I know, she breaks slowly. I can watch it happen right before my eyes, small chunks crumbling off of her until she's left open and exposed. My...my..." Clint broke off. What was Coulson? His lover, his best friend, his boyfriend? "My handler, he broke quick and sharp. He'd come home from work and just lose it. You? I just assumed you had already broken and were over it and were just being stupid. But you never broke to begin with."

"I wasn't letting myself feel," Peter said, turning away from him again. "Now I can't help it." He looked back at Clint and sat up straighter. "How do you break?"

Clint gave a dull laugh. "I don't, not often. I've lost three teammates this year. Can't say I've let myself feel much."

"So I guess you can't go around lecturing me, can you?" Despite the words, there's nothing defensive in Peter's tone.

"Nah, I can. I know what it feels like to snap after bottling everything up for so long. I don't think you wanna feel that," Clint said. "The result isn't pretty at all."

"If you know that, why don't you let yourself break, get it over with?"

Clint met Peter's eyes. "It's not that easy. I'm missing the person who used to take me apart and put me back together again."

Realization seeped into the other's eyes then and Peter looked away. Clint wasn't sure why he was telling Peter so much, maybe he was just trying to help the other out even if it meant bearing a bit of his soul out. Coulson always said that's how trust was built. You handed someone a piece of yourself and hoped that they didn't use it against you. If they didn't...well then, you could trust them.

"I guess we're both pretty messed up then."

"Yeah. We are."

"I could...take you apart." Peter swung his legs over the bed, head ducked as he looked over at Clint.

Clint crooked an eyebrow. "You're a little too timid to do that."

Peter chuckled. "I guess you're right. I've only ever spent my life being ordered around. It wasn't until Spiderman that I started living for myself."

"You've never lived for yourself," Clint said. "You live for the people now, and don't even try and tell me I'm wrong because I know you'll be lying. I bet you've had people telling you to leave behind the life you lead because they don't want to see you hurt, right? Because that happens to any one of us who has someone who cares."

Peter swallowed thickly. "Well, besides you, my Aunt, and Johnny, there's no one left alive that knows who I am."

Clint gave a low whistle, leaning back in his chair. "Damn. You're good."

"They're dead."

"But even if they weren't, only five people knew. Damn, no wonder you're so stressed out," Clint said. "Is there anything you need me for?"

Peter stared at the floor. "Stay with me?"

"Not used to sleeping alone yet, are you?" Clint asked. There was no judgment in his voice. "Neither am I. I sleep in the same bed as Natasha pretty much every night because I wake up feeling lost without another person there."

"I wake up in cold sweat because Matt isn't there anymore."

"I hold Coulson's old gun in my hand some mornings and contemplate blowing my brains out. Nat always leaves the room when I do this because she wants me to make the right choice on my own," Clint said in a rush, leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I almost hung myself last week but I got over it and I don't think that's going to happen because too many people need me."

"Nobody needs me."

"I need you."

"You don't-"

Clint's words were cut off because suddenly Peter was in his lap kissing him breathless and for once he didn't know where to put his hands and Peter's hands were fisting in his hair to the point where it was painful. He couldn't resist Peter's tongue, hot and wet, licking its way inside and tasting him inside and out without giving him a chance to respond. Groans spilled from his mouth and into Peter's as the younger ground down into him, desperate and needy, so needy.

"I don't want to talk right now." Peter's words are a mumbled gasp over Clint's ear, making him shudder like he was a kid going through puberty, turned on by the slightest thing.

But Peter wasn't the slightest thing. He was hot, heavy, and hard against him, his body encompassing him completely and wholly and not giving him any way out, not that he really even wanted one.

"Okay. Okay. We don't have to talk," Clint said.

"Damn straight," Peter said.

Peter kissed him again, hands trailing down Clint's chest and tugging his shirt over his head, teeth nipping along his jaw as he did so. Gently, Clint threaded a hand into Peter's soft hair, fingers tickling over the nape of his neck, tightening when Peter suddenly nipped his neck. Clint's chest was warm beneath Peter's hands, calloused fingers running up and down the hardened muscles and flicking over his nipples.

Clint arched his back into the painful contrast and Peter smirked against his neck, flicking them harder and then pressing the palms of his hands down onto the nubs until Clint was stuttering out his name in a heated gasp, eyes slipping shut. Peter shifted on his lap, catching Clint's lower lip in his own and sucking hard as his blunt fingernails clawed down his sides, ending at his hips where his thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the skin.

How Peter knew how to play his body so well was a bit unnerving, but at the same time, the pleasure it sent spiking through him was too delicious to deny. Any semblance of resistance Clint had disappeared under Peter's hands.

"Should I be stunned how good you are at this?" Clint asked into Peter's mouth as they kissed.

"I've had practice," Peter said, then ground down hard into the older's lap to silence him once more.

He slid back a bit, balancing perfectly as he straddled Clint's knees, fingers undoing his pants in a few quick movements before slipping a hand inside. The touch was tentative despite the earlier confidence in the man's movements, and that bit of vulnerability made Clint all the harder.

Peter pulled him out of his boxers, stroking in firm strokes, thumb toying with the head at every move. With a growl, Clint grabs the back of Peter's neck and hauls him closer for a kiss, hot and open mouthed as his other hand moves down to unbutton Peter's jeans, his movements a little more sloppy than Peter's had been but eventually, his hand was wrapped around Peter's length as well.

"God your hands," Peter hissed, hips jerking up into his grasp.

That's a kink to explore later, Clint could tell already, but he didn't bother with that now because Peter started to do something with his own hands that made his own hips stutter and his breath break past his lips in a hot rush. It was an odd feeling, like tons of tiny bristles sliding over the sensitive skin of his cock.

"T-The fuck...P-Peter?" His tone is questioning, the pleasure never having felt so intense.

Peter smirked into his neck, lips trailing down, down to the part where neck meets collarbone, down to the part that will be covered by his uniform, but only barely. If Clint shifted just the right way, then the top of the mark would be showing. Peter bit down as his hand reached the tip of his cock, the odd bristling feeling returning all over the top, smearing pre-come as Peter toyed with the slit. Growling, Peter bit harder, the shock making Clint arch beneath his hands.

Peter's hand tightened once, twice, and Clint's vision blurs white. His heart was beating so fast it was almost as though he were dying, convulsing in Peter's grip. Peter wrapped around him, like an anchor, and he clung helplessly as he began to cry, fingers tightening and wrinkling the younger's shirt.

"There you go," Peter murmured against his temple. His fingertips collected the tears off of Clint's cheeks then slid down to rub over his lips.

Clint buried his face in Peter's neck, aware of the other's arousal pressing into his belly but unable to do anything, unable to move to help him because there was a feeling, strong and overwhelming crashing over him and he didn't know what it was.

As he came back into his body, he found that Peter had already tucked them both back away and was curled up on his lap, fingers trailing over his bare chest. Sighing, he shifted in the chair and tugged Peter closer, his own hands moving to slide up and down his side, then underneath the shirt to touch the soft skin beneath. Peter's breath was soft and fluttering against his neck, nose nuzzling at his neck.

"Do you need anything?" Clint asked, voice quiet as his hand slid down to grasp at Peter's hip.

The barest of nods into his neck, and if Clint hadn't been paying attention, he was sure he would have missed it. Keeping his movements slow and careful, Clint undid the zipper once more, the button, tugging the jeans down so they hung on the tops of Peter's thighs. The boxers were shoved down next and then Clint cupped the younger's half hardened arousal, keeping his touches light.

Peter shifted in his grasp, teeth nipping at Clint's neck, soft enough that it didn't distract the older. Clint folded his hand around Peter's balls, rolling them gently before trailing a single finger up his length, enjoying the way the move made Peter's hips jerk beneath him.

He could tell Peter was holding back from the way he gasped, all soft noises and whimpers, but he couldn't bring himself to torture and drag out a stronger reaction. The way Peter was curled up against him made him seem fragile, breakable, so close to the edge that one hard touch would shatter him, and not in a good way if Clint wasn't careful.

Kissing Peter's temple, he continued his slow strokes, keeping the touch simple. It was a lazy, perfect, and he brought Peter's climax to him in such a gentle way, that it was almost as powerful if he had spent hours torturing him. Peter came apart in his hands, back arching, mouth opening wide as he gasped and cried out shuddering in Clint's grip.

Clint guided Peter into a kiss with his free hand, tongue stroking his mouth from the inside out until Peter finally stilled beneath him. The archer could still feel Peter's pulse racing, thrumming against the thumb he had pressed to the younger's neck, but the way the young hero was becoming boneless in his lap, he guessed it wouldn't be long before the man fell asleep.

Silently, Clint carried him to the bed and stripped Peter of his dirtied shirt, dropping it on the ground. He tucked his softened length away and stripped his pants off and pulled the covers back. Once Peter was beneath them, head pillowed on one curled arm, Clint began to walk away.

A slim hand tightened around his wrist, tugging him back. Swallowing thickly, Clint let himself be dragged down onto the bed, not sure what to think when Peter wrapped himself around him, curling tight. Swallowing, he rubbed his hand in between Peter's shoulder blades. He wanted to say something, anything, wanted to ask Peter what's going on, what they're doing, but as he opened his mouth, he remembered Peter saying he didn't want to talk.

So he swallowed his words and buried his face in Peter's hair, waiting for sleep to take him down.

 

-.-

 

When Peter woke, his head was on Clint's chest over his heart, the steady thud of his heart beat soothing him. For once, he didn't feel like dying as soon as he woke, and for a moment, that thought scared him more than anything else. What they had done yesterday had felt nice, amazing really. Watching Clint come undone in his hands had made him feel like he was in control for the first time in awhile. And then the way Clint had held him, caressing his body until he reached his peak, cradling him after.

It seemed like a dream, a surreal fantasy he didn't deserve.

As if sensing his thoughts, Clint shifted and tugged him closer, the heartbeat changing beneath Peter's ear as he began to wake. "Do you need something?" Clint's voice is quiet.

"No, I'm fine. Do you need me to leave?" Peter asked, pushing himself up so he was leaning over Clint. "I know you said that Natasha usually left you to...think."

An odd, twisted smirk distorted Clint's lips and his eyes opened sleepily, "You know, it's been awhile since I felt okay when I woke up. But I feel fine now so...maybe I can go without that ritual this morning."

Something tight clenched in Peter's chest and he recoiled, feeling horrible about his reaction when Clint frowned. "I'm sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for," Clint said, picking up that Peter wasn't apologizing for...making him feel happy. "I don't know what you're apologizing for, but you've made me happier than I have been in awhile. Don't feel like that's wrong."

"I can't..." Peter got to his feet, grabbing a pair of sweats from his drawer and tugging them on quickly, followed by a baggy shirt. Without clothes, he felt exposed and that wasn't something he wanted, not now, now when his mind was so twisted and confused.

Clint let him get his space as he left the room, going to their discarded beer bottles to put them away to recycle later. He froze when he saw a paper airplane, nestled between two bottles as if it had been made to fit just there. He pretended his fingers weren't shaking as he picked it up, unfolding it one crinkled move at a time.

_Guess the Spider moves on pretty quickly. You make it so easy to hurt you._

He dropped the paper and whirled, tearing back into the bedroom to see Clint sprawled out on the bed, yawning as he arches his back. Surprised, he sat up, cocking his head to the side.

"Something wrong?"  
"Bullseye left me a note." The words escaped Peter's lips before he could think to stop then, and he stumbled back to lean against the wall. "I just...wanted to make sure you were okay."

Clint's eyes narrowed and he swung out of the bed. "Bullseye left a note?"

Peter gestured back towards the living room and Clint brushed past him. Peter watched from the doorway as Clint picked up the paper and read it over a few times, dropping it onto the table when he finished. Then he grabbed the beer bottles and carried them over to the kitchen counter, rinsing them out and then turning to face Peter.

"Not the first death threat I've gotten," Clint said. He spread his arms. "I'm still here."

"Matt was killed by him. In his office. He didn't stand a chance." Peter's voice was tight and hard. "I'm sorry Clint, but you're no superhero like he was. He had powers and Bullseye took him out like it was no big deal. Like they hadn't been fighting each other to a stalemate for years. Forgive me for being a little...hesitant to trust your abilities."

"So what do you want me to do? Hide in one of SHIELD's facilities until you go and get yourself killed taking care of him?" Clint asked. "Because that's not happening. The good news is, this note is enough to raise a few eyebrows at SHIELD so you might be able to get a few more agents on the case."

"They'll just get killed! Forgive me for not having faith in an agency that works for the government and has sent assassins for me. Assassins I've easily beaten and trussed up for Fury to deal with," Peter said. "Simple SHIELD agents aren't going to take him down."

"You're freaking out, Peter. By agents, I meant Iron Man, Captain America, the works. It was personal before, but we didn't have any proof. Now we have proof. You take this to Cap, and he'll start the manhunt himself. The Avengers protect their own," Clint said. "Now where are your plastic bags? We need to put that away and take it in."

Peter broke the archer's intense gaze, eyes rooted to the floor as he tried to speak. "Not...not used to having people on my side."

"You've been working with the team for weeks now," Clint said. "Figured you'd be used to that by now."

"This is personal."

Silence reigned for awhile, neither moving. After a moment, Clint walked towards him, bare feet loud even on the carpet, cutting the heavy silence. "I'm going to hug you now."

Peter folded into Clint's grip as if he had been waiting for permission all along, wrapping his arms tight around the archer's waist as he pressed his face into Clint's neck. "I don't know what I'm doing."

"Me neither. Just let me help you, please," Clint said. "Let me do that at least."

"Yeah...yeah okay." Peter tugged him closer, if that was even possible. "I'm just tired of people I care about being ripped away."

"Care about me?" Clint asked, the words spoken into Peter's temple.

"I don't know," Peter said, voice honest. "You and Johnny are the only ones I have left besides Aunt...May." He jerked as if shocked, trembling. "Aunt May. Bullseye knows who I am, he has to if he knows this apartment, if he's been watching us. I need to-"

Clint grabbed his shoulders, fingers digging into his skin and jerking him back to reality. "Go shower, get ready. I'll call Nat and she can get a squad down to her house. We can relocate her to Avenger's Tower. Tony's providing space for our families if we need it."

Peter jerked out of his grasp. "I'm going now. I'm moving her to the Baxter Building."

"Is that the safest?" Clint asked.

Peter's blue eyes narrowed, fists clenching. "I've known the Fantastic Four way longer than Tony. I trust their systems more than anyone else's. And I know they won't sell me out."

"Neither will Tony, or me, you know that," he said. "Tony can send someone to pick her up if you want, discreet. SHIELD will never know."

"You can't expect me to believe that. Or that she'll be safer there," Peter said, backing into the bedroom and grabbing his costume.

"The entire god damn building is a super computer, an AI of Tony's old butler. His security systems are better than anything the government has ever invented, and after the incident with Loki, he replaced all the windows with bullet-proof glass of his  _own_  making. Nothing will reach her," Clint said. "And that's only what I know. You're a science nerd like Tony is. If you want, he could explain it to you in technical terms."

Peter worried his bottom lip. "Okay, you've convinced me. Can I go now?"

Clint waved his hand. "I'll call Tony."

Peter nodded, then before he could stop himself, he had given Clint a quick kiss. They both pulled away, looking a little flustered. Before either could mention it, Peter had tugged his mask on and was gone.

 

-.-

 

"The kid's lucky I like him," Tony said as stepped into the elevator. "You have no idea how hard it was keeping SHIELD off my tail when we went to pick her up."

"Thanks, Stark," Clint said, nudging the man in the ribs lightly with his elbow. "He's been through a-"

"I know. I'm quite aware of the losses he's experienced lately. Maybe that's why I'm doing so much, but don't get it in your head that I'm this nice all the time. I'm doing this for him, not you," Tony said, though the smirk on his lips made Clint think that maybe, if he asked real nicely, Tony would do something for him.

"Did Cap say anything about helping him out with his Bullseye trouble?" Clint asked.

The elevator jolted to a stop, doors opening to reveal the living room. Natasha was sprawled over the couch, Bruce standing by the large windows with Peter, still dressed as Spiderman beside him, their voices low as they spoke. Steve got to his feet as they made their way into the room.

"Well, since we're all here now, I think we should come up with a plan," Steve said. He was already in uniform, minus the mask, as if he thought they would be running out to take Bullseye down right away.

"Really, you guys don't have to do this," Peter said, turning to look at them.

"You're one of us now," Steve said as he gave the younger a stern look. "I've talked with Fury, but he has informed me that they don't have a lot of information on Bullseye."

"And for once," Tony said from behind the bar. "He's telling the truth. I hacked into their servers again earlier because I didn't trust what Capsicle was telling me. They've got nothing on the guy."

"Are you trying to say you don't trust me?" Steve asked, his tone growing angry.

Tony rolled his eyes as he walked towards him. "I trust you just fine, Cap. It's the big guy I'm worried about."

"What's wrong with me?" Bruce asked.

Tony shot Bruce a look, but the scientist just gave him an innocent smile. "Big guy, not the Other Guy. You guys are all hopeless. Anyways, there's not much we have on him, but I'm sure we can start a face recognition scan. JARVIS?"

"I am sorry sir, but it would appear that there are no photos of Bullseye without his mask."

Peter jerked, staring up at the ceiling. "The hell?"

"JARVIS, my artificial intelligence super computer," Tony said. "Surely Clint mentioned him?"

"Uh yeah, but I haven't...heard him before."

Tony shrugged and knocked back his drink. "So, as far as plans go, we're pretty stuck it seems."

"Stark, I don't know if you remember this but, Clint and I are spies. We find people for a living," Natasha said. "If Spiderman would inform us of all he knows about the man, we can start searching."

"Oh, you're actually going to help?" Tony asked.

Clint inwardly winced as Nat straightened, arms folding across her chest as she stared Tony down. "Matt Murdock was a  _very_  close friend of mine and I've had a run in with Bullseye myself. It isn't an experience I care to repeat, but I'm not letting this go."

"Why have I never met this guy?" Tony asked. "Seems like a waste. Well in that case, there's your plan."

Steve stared at Tony. "Thanks Stark, but let me do my job next time."

"Oh you can take all the credit when Fury debriefs you," Tony said, waving his hand dismissively. "Now, Spiderman, I hear you're a bit of a science nerd yourself. You should join Bruce and I in the lab, we got this great new..."

Clint snickered as Tony dragged the younger out of the living room, Bruce trailing behind them, shaking his head. Steve took off his mask and sat down on the couch, running a hand through his blond hair as Nat sat down on his left.

"So you know this Bullseye too? Is he strong?" Steve asked.

Clint moved closer, sitting down on the floor next to the coffee table as Natasha thought over her response.

"Let me put it this way. I survived because Matt distracted him. Another two seconds and I would've been dead. Matt Murdock is one of the strongest men I know, stronger than you in some ways, and Bullseye took him down with a toothpick."

Steve rubbed at his eyes, then folded his hands together. "How the heck do you protect against a toothpick?"

"Never leave your house again," Clint said. "He's paranoid at home now, since Bullseye left him the note." He looked up at both of them. "Not going to lie, it gave me a bit of a chill too. He could've easily killed us both, but he didn't. He's just fucking with our heads, and I don't take kindly to that."

"Maybe he should stay here then," Nat said.

"That'd require him giving up his identity," Clint said.

She rolled her eyes. "Like we don't all already know. We all know Tony moved his Aunt here, only takes a quick Google search to connect the dots. SHIELD won't know but...we're his team. We aren't going to betray him."

"I can talk to him," Steve said, looking resolved. "He has to know we're on his side, no matter what."

"Be careful," Clint said. "He's pretty convinced that everyone he gets close to ends up dead so...don't lay it on too thick, alright Cap?"

 

-.-

 

If Stark hadn't already given him the "Don't touch anything, I mean it, I will fry you alive if you do" speech, Peter's hands would've been all over everything. Weapons, chemicals, everything. He read the papers, hell, he  _wrote_  the papers. He knew Stark had invented two new elements, he knew the technology that was at his fingertips, and he was also painfully aware that he could never touch it.

"You know, if you stayed here long enough, and I got to like you, I might let you touch things," Stark said.

Peter turned away from where Banner was tinkering with a gun of some kind to face Stark, tilting his head to the side when he realized the man was eating out of a bag of frozen blueberries.

"Where'd you get those?"

"I store my snacks all over the lab," Stark said with a straight face. "So, maybe you should stay longer. Then you can tinker with the toys."

"Nah, I'm good," Peter said.

Stark did an odd eye-roll mixed with a frown and then reached forward, yanking off Peter's mask before he could do anything. "We all know who you are, stop being an idiot. I thought you were a genius. I am not impressed."

Peter frowned, but couldn't think of a response so he kept his mouth shut.

Banner sighed from behind him. "What Tony's trying to say is we all know who you are, we're protecting your Aunt, and we'll protect you too. Stay in the Tower."

"No."

Banner finished walking around the table to stand beside Stark, arms folded across his chest as he looked at Peter over his glasses. "And why not? Afraid the people you'll get close to will end up dying?"

Peter felt his throat and mouth go dry as the other scientist read his thoughts, read him like an open book. Was it really that obvious? "Everyone I've ever loved has died. I don't have an amazing track record."

"We've all been through that," Bruce said.

"Speak for yourself," Stark said, glancing away.

Bruce scoffed, nudging him with his elbow. Sighing, Stark held out his bag of blueberries and Banner took one, popping it into his mouth. "Maybe not as a direct result of being...well  _super heroes_ , but we've all had loved ones die. You're just a little on the unlucky side. "

"You know what, before you start rambling and giving me your life story, hold these Bruce, let me say a few things," Stark said, shoving the bag of berries into Bruce's hand. "You are living in the apartment of your deceased lover. The man who wants to hunt you down knows where you live and has already proven he can easily get inside. Common sense says you should be moving to a place where you'll be safe. How is a building, run by an AI that I built, full of superheroes, not safe enough for you?"

"I'm not going to let him scare me away," Peter said, leaning back against the table. "If I give in now, he knows he can boss me around."

"Bruce, he's an idiot," Stark said, looking at Banner with an incredulous look like he couldn't quite believe it. "Why did you let me bring him into my lab?"

"I'd say it's because deep down you're a big-hearted softie but I know that's a lie."

"You're smart, have the rest of the berries," Stark said. "Now, Parker, listen. Cap already gave you the you-are-one-of-us speeches. What he didn't mention is that this means you're also mine. I protect my stuff."

"You don't  _own_  me-"

"Actually you signed over the rights to your soul when I had you sign that housing contract for your Aunt," Stark said.

"You what?"

"Joking. Now-"

"What Tony is trying to say," Banner interjected, shoving his way in between the two men before they could move any closer together. "Is that he cares for your safety so just stay here where he can keep an eye on you. For his own benefit."

"I need to bring you along on my business meetings," Stark said, turning to look at Banner for a moment. "Such a good translator."

"I fail to see how my running away will help me fight against Bullseye," Peter said. He knew he was grasping at straws, but he couldn't help it.

"You're not running away. You're luring him into a false sense of security. He'll think you're too chicken shit to do anything and he'll come after you, if that's his goal anyways. But since you're here, we can take care of you," Tony said.

"I...suppose I could see that. I guess I can stay here then," Peter said.

Tony gave him a smile. "Good man. Bruce, show him around. Glad we had this talk." He turned on his heel and briskly left the room.

Bruce tilted his head to the side, a small smirk on his lips. "You didn't believe a word he just said, did you?"

"Nope, just figured it'd be easier to stop fighting and do what he wants," Peter said.

"Ah, you're learning already," Bruce said.

Peter grinned. "They say I'm a quick learner. "

"Let's put that to the test."

Before Bruce could lead him further into the lab though, the doors swung open to reveal Steve, dressed back in civilian clothes. "Um, Tony said you'd be in here. Could I talk to you for a bit, Peter?"

"Yeah, I guess," Peter said. "I should probably be swinging by to pick up some things at my...old place now anyways."

"I'll be here when you get back," Banner said with a small wave as Peter began to head towards the exit. Peter waved a hand back at him in acknowledgement.

"Tony tells me you've decided to stay," Steve said as he followed Peter out of the lab. "That's good. I just wanted you to know we're all on your side. We care about you."

"Come off it, Cap. You don't even know me, you're just protecting your investments," Peter said, punching in the number for the ground floor as he tugged his mask back on.

With Steve dressed in normal civilian clothes, he was able to shove his hands in his pockets and look all sorts of sheepish that made Peter feel guilty. "Clint warned me you'd be like this."

"Ah? And what else did Clint warn you about?" Peter asked, genuinely curious.

The elevator doors opened and he crossed the garage quickly, trying not to stare too long at all of Tony's fancy cars. Steve stopped walking, hovering by a simple motorcycle, not the one Peter had seen him driving before.

"Could we perhaps talk more later? I can help you pack what you need at your old apartment," Steve said.

"You're just the all around American, aren't you?" Peter shook his head, smiling under the mask. "You're a real nice guy, Cap. Sure, that'd be fine."

He shoved open the door that led outside and shot a line of web up to head back home.

 

-.-

 

Peter stared at the box full of pictures he and Matt had taken when they had managed to squeeze in a three-day vacation down in Florida, heart thudding in his throat. To the left of the box was a trash bag.

He had beaten Steve to his apartment by a long shot, giving him time to get his head in order before he packed the last of his belongings to take to Stark Tower. Bags of clothes sat by the door, clothes he'd have to take down to Goodwill before he moved into Stark Tower, clothes he didn't want to look at again. Sighing, he shoved the lid back onto the box, moving to answer the door as Steve knocked lightly on it.

"Hi," he said with a small wave, stepping inside. "How can I help?"

"Uh, in the closet there's some stuff. Just shove it into the trash bags, they're sitting on the bed," Peter said. "I don't keep anything I don't wear so it can all go over. Besides, Stark probably gave me an entire room's worth of closet space."

Steve chuckled, then frowned as Peter moved to pick up the box. "What's that?"

"Just uh, old photos," Peter said, offering a weak grin.

"Of what?" Steve stepped closer and inwardly, Peter cringed.

"Me and Matt." No point in lying, because Steve was already gently prying the box away from him and setting it down on the ground. "From our vacation a few months ago. And from just...around. I mean, Matt couldn't ever see them but he thought it was important that I...did."

Steve sat down with a sigh beside the box, lifting out each picture he wanted to examine with a careful touch before setting it aside, stacking them neatly. "If they are so important to him, why would you throw them away?"

If Tony had asked the question, it would undoubtedly have been accusing, but Steve seemed genuinely curious to hear his answer.

"I don't want to remember. There's no point when remembering only makes me want things I can't have," Peter said.

Steve didn't dignify that with an answer, instead just working through all of the photos, and from the angle he was standing at, Peter could see all of them as well. He swallowed thickly, shifting from one foot to the other, but refusing to sit beside the other man.

"You know, memories make a person who they are," Steve said as he began to pack the photos away again. "You wouldn't be who you are now if it weren't for your experiences. I wouldn't mind a photo or two of Bucky. I've got one of Peggy but...keep these, even if you don't want to look now. One day you might want to."

"One day, I might be dead," Peter said.

Steve got to his feet, stepping close. "I hope you don't plan on going out of your way for that."

"Never said that."

"I've seen a lot of people with passive aggressive death wishes," Steve said. "People who jump out of line, make a reckless move, play it off as just being impulsive, but they're just trying to get themselves killed."

"That's not on my list of things to do. I have things I need to finish," Peter said. Steve's intense blue stare was hard to combat. It felt like the man knew what he was thinking, was reading his mind and processing every thought.

"And when you run out of things to finish?"

"It's a long list."

Steve stared at him a moment longer, than smiled, small and soft. "Yeah, alright. Let's get you packed up, alright?"

"Sure, Cap," Peter said, returning the smile.

As they set about packing up, he realized that he had been telling the truth, not just saying something to get Steve off his back. He did want to live, he did have things he wanted to do still. Not just kill Bullseye, but other things, the things he and Matt had never gotten around to doing, things he wanted to do, plain and simple.

As they walked out the door to load up a car Stark had sent for them, Peter snatched Matt's letter, shoving it into his pocket. He wasn't ready to read it yet, but he wasn't ready to live in the cold apartment any longer.

 

-.-

 

"Hope you don't mind, I let myself in," Clint said.

Peter didn't look up, staring down at the letter on the counter. He was sitting on the barstool, face cradled on his steepled fingers. "Yeah it's fine. JARVIS warned me you were at the door."

"Oh. So...what're you doing?" Clint asked, sliding into the barstool beside him.

"Debating whether or not to read this," Peter said.

Clint reached forward and grabbed for the letter, picking it up when Peter didn't reach out to stop him. He knew the archer wasn't going to open it without his permission, so if the man wanted to look, who was Peter to stop him? "Matt write it?"

"Yeah. It was in his will, so he must've wrote it awhile ago," Peter said.

"Think it might give us a clue to where Bullseye is located?"

"No, probably not. Matt was a lot of things, but he wasn't a psychic. He wouldn't have know Bullseye was going to kill him," Peter said.

"I beg to differ." Clint twisted the letter back and forth as if a secret message would suddenly be revealed. "You said that Bullseye was the only one who ever fought him to a stalemate. I remember when you were going on your rant about everyone you cared about dying around you."

Peter flushed a little at that. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to say you were weak."

Clint silenced him with a firm look and continued. "What I'm trying to say is that Matt probably knew if he ever got killed, it was going to be by Bullseye. No one else worried him as much."

"So you're saying he might've included some memo about Bullseye? That's a cheap shot Clint, trying to get me to read a letter so that I can maybe reveal some clues."

"I'm not trying to manipulate you into anything," Clint said. "You know that."

"Do I?"

"Would you have let me into your bed last night if you didn't trust me not to hurt you?"  
Peter's lips tightened and he looked away. "That might've been a mistake."

"Do you feel better?" Peter didn't answer, but he knew that his silence alone was enough of an answer for Clint. "How's something a mistake if you enjoyed it? If it made you feel happy?"

"I don't want to talk about this," Peter said, sliding out of his chair only to have Clint wrap a hand around his wrist and tug him back down onto his lap, somehow managing to keep his balance even with Peter's added weight. "Clint."  
Clint met his gaze, holding it as he pressed the letter against Peter's chest, not letting go until Peter had the letter in his hand. "Read it. If you need me to leave, I will, but I can be here if you need me. You're torturing yourself with all this back and forth."

Peter broke their eye-lock, then slid forward a bit and wrapping his legs around Clint's waist to encourage the archer to reach down and settle his large hands along Peter's waist. The hands were just as warm and comforting as he remembered, and with a sigh, he folded himself around the older, arms going over his shoulders, chin resting against the crook of his neck.

He opened the letter carefully as one of Clint's hands slid up his back to tangle in his hair. Peter shifted on his lap, a small smile coming to his lips as the archer set about massaging his fingers into the back of Peter's head, the touch nearly putting him to sleep.

"If you keep doing that, I'm going to fall asleep before I read the letter," Peter said, forcing his eyes open.

He was sure it was supposed to be scary, being held so tenderly by another person so soon. Hell, even Bullseye had commented on it in his note. What was he doing? As if sensing his disturbing thoughts, Clint tugged him closer and kissed the tip of his ear, and it relaxed Peter more than he cared to admit. With a sigh, he took the letter out of its envelope and began to read.

_Peter,_

_I added this to my will the night I realized I actually might love you. I thought all day about what I wanted to say, what I would say if I could, after I died. I wish I could say that I'll never die, but we both know how dangerous the lives we lead are. You'd know I was lying._

_Yesterday was when I took you on that date. I think you'll know the one I'm talking about before I even start explaining. When you told me about your Uncle Ben, Gwen, and Mary Jane. When you laid out your soul for me and trusted me not to use it against you._

_I know how hard that is to do. I realized what a gift you were giving me. I realized that maybe it's okay to start loving people again, to start letting people in again. As of right now, we've been dating for six months. I don't know when you'll be reading this; to be honest, it is my sincerest hope that you'll never have to read this._

_I'm bad at saying what I feel. In fact, this is probably the most eloquent thing you've seen me write, heard me say. I'm fine on the stand, in the courtroom, but tell me to talk about my feelings and well, I'm next to hopeless._

_Whatever happened to me, I'm sorry. I probably could've done something to stop it. Or maybe I was just caught off guard. I don't know. I know I wouldn't have left willingly, there are too many things I wanted to do. God, I hope I'm not making a mess of this paper. It's hard enough to write when I'm blind, but I'm shaking too because I don't know what I'm even feeling anymore. You drive me insane Peter Parker._

_I guess I should leave you with some last few words or something. Don't get too hung up on me, no matter how far down the line this letter comes to you. You are a loving person, a person who needs to be cherished just as much as he cherishes others. You need someone to give you as much as you give them. You need someone who's not going to take everything from you and walk away. I'm not the only person that fits that description._

_I love you Peter Parker, and I hope at this point you've started to love me too. Love is weird for me and I know you don't like hearing that word because you think it means that person's going to end up dying. That's not true, though I guess with the life we live, we're a little more prone to losing our loved ones. But don't let that, or this, stop you from loving other people._

_You've got so much love in you Peter, it'd be a shame if you never expressed it. Don't forget me, But don't shut yourself off either. I'll always love you._

_Matt_

Peter let the letter flutter out of his grip, clinging to Clint with an iron hard grip as he began to cry. Clint didn't say anything, just held him close and didn't let go.


	2. Chapter 2

Peter cursed as his bag caught on the edge of his desk, knocking over a cup of pencils and pens in the process. He was the last one in the office of the Daily Bugle, working overtime to make up for the time he missed for Matt's funeral and for the sporadic missions Fury had given him over the last few weeks. Tony had asked him numerous times over the last few days why he insisted on still working when he was sitting on a fortune.

Peter asked him if he was going to stop making inventions just because he was rich. That had been answer enough for Tony.

"Here, let me help," a voice said as Peter knelt to grab the cup.

He jerked back, eyes widening when he saw Bullseye grinning down at him. "You!"

"Looking a little rough around the edges, Spidey. How've you been?" The tall man settled himself along the corner of Peter's desk, twirling a pencil in his hands as his eyes burned into Peter's.

"You should know the answer to that, given that you're stalking me," Peter said, shucking his bag free and pulling out his mask.

Before he could tug it on, Bullseye had flung the pencil, ripping the mask from his grip and pinning it to the far wall. Peter's eyes narrowed, fists clenching.

"Ah, careful. If you attack me now, we might get some unwanted attention and without your mask," Bullseye gave a fake gasp of horror. "People might learn that little Peter Parker is actually Spiderman. I wonder what your boss would think?"

Peter grit his teeth. "How's this for little?" He lunged then, cranking his fist back and then driving it into Bullseye's chest with enough force to drive him back into the wall, hunks of plaster crumbling around him.

Bullseye gave a cough and rubbed his chest, still smiling. His foot lashed back, cracking the wall fully so there was a large enough hole for him to duck through. He gave a wave and jumped down, and Peter reacted instantly, diving after him. They hit the ground together, the pavement cracking under their weight as Peter got another two hits in before he was flung away to the other side of the street.

The crowded street grew louder as people began to point and stare at the two figures facing off from other sides of the street. Peter let out a deep sigh, realizing what Bullseye had been trying to do.

"Well look what we have here," Bullseye said. "So what'll it be Peter? Leave me here to kill anyone I want?" The last word was a yell, and Peter let out a shout as two civilians, a woman and man, crumpled to the ground, knives buried in their foreheads. Screams rose up in the air, Peter's heart pounding harder than he thought possible in his chest. "Or sacrifice your identity and take me out?"

Bullseye held up his hand, revealing more knives. Many of the crowd began to run, some still frozen in place, but Peter knew one thing for sure. They could run as fast as they wanted, Bullseye would hunt them down one by one if he knew it would hurt him.

"I don't give a damn about myself," Peter said lowly. "Not when I have people to protect."

Bullseye just grinned and arched his hand back to throw. Peter's arm shot out, the webbing springing free of his wrist and wrapping tight around Bullseye's hand and his weapons. The crowd went silent and all eyes turned to him now that the threat was, somewhat, neutralized.

"Looks like Peter Parker's all grown up." Bullseye yanked his arm back, dragging Peter forward with him before Peter could cut the webbing off.

By the time he got free, Bullseye had crossed the distance between them, his web-covered fist cracking into Peter's jaw and snapping his head back. Peter grabbed the man's wrist and flipped him back over his shoulder, foot snapping forward to catch Bullseye in the chest, knocking him back further.

Bullseye was on his feet in no time though, a flash of silver catching Peter's eye before a knife buried itself in his shoulder. The pain was immense but he yanked it out, not sparing it a thought as he let it clatter to the ground.

"You never miss a target. So what the hell are you doing?" Peter shouted as Bullseye backed up a few steps. "If you want to kill me, just do it already!"

"Oh how the mighty have fallen," Bullseye chuckled. "But it isn't me that wants you dead. I'm just along for the ride."

"Like hell you are!" Peter leapt, seizing the front of Bullseye's uniform and smashing his forehead against the others, grinning when Bullseye staggered beneath him. He grabbed the man's arm and yanked him forward, cracking it against his knee and grinning again when he heard it snap.

Bullseye only grunted though, his good hand reaching around to fist in Peter's hair, pulling his head back. "This is much bigger than you and I, Peter Parker. I was hired to kill my worst enemy, you're just bonus points."

"Than why don't you kill me?" Peter grabbed the bad arm, using it to hurl Bullseye over his shoulder once more, slamming him into the pavement. "Huh? You just like fucking with my head? That it?"

"I had to expose you first," Bullseye said, grinning once more. "And show everyone that even heroes can be driven to drastic measures."

"What?" Peter stepped back. "What are you talking about?"

"I'm not in this for personal gain," Bullseye said, sitting up. "I was hired. I did my job. Daredevil's dead, you're exposed, and I only have one more thing to do before I'm done."

"What are you even talking about?" Peter asked.

"We're going to play a game," Bullseye said. "You kill me, the bombs set up under this entire city block go off." He got to his feet, staggering back even as the crowd backed away from him. "I didn't set them up, it was my employer. I can't control it."

"I don't kill, anyone who hired you knows that," Peter said. "I wouldn't sacrifice a city block for my revenge."

Bullseye wheezed out a laugh, then grabbed out blindly with his good hand to seize the hair of a girl, tugging her out of her mother's grasp and throwing her onto the ground in between them. She began to cry instantly, her knees torn open by the rough pavement. "Someone's dying tonight, Parker. You either kill me or her. Kill me, the entire block goes up in flames and everyone on this street dies. Kill her, nothing happens. Everyone walks away unharmed and I go on my merry way."

At his words, some of the crowd began to run away, and Bullseye didn't move to stop them, instead keeping his gaze locked with Peter's. Blood roared in Peter's ears as he stared at Bullseye, then looked down at the hapless girl. Her mother was still behind Bullseye, trying to run to her girl even as two others held her back.

"You have two minutes, Peter. My boss is nice enough to give you time to think," Bullseye said, voice strangely quiet and calm. "Take your pick."

"Who hired you?" Peter asked, picking up the knife he had discarded from his shoulder earlier.

"Oh I can't tell you that. Really, I can't. You have a lot of enemies Peter, it's probably one of them," Bullseye said. "You really should've cut off your loose ends. Every good hero knows you're not supposed to let your enemies walk away."

"I don't kill people," Peter said as the screeching sound of police cars and sirens echoed around them. "You know that. Everyone knows that Spiderman doesn't kill." He stared down at the knife in his hands, turning it every which way. The girl in front of him let out a pained whimper; Bullseye must've broken something when he threw her. "Whoever hired you must want to do me a lot of emotional pain."

"And who better to do that than a psychopath?" Bullseye shifted, breathing labored.

"Someone you must've met in jail," Peter said, holding the knife up as his eyes met Bullseye's. If he threw the knife now, he'd be able to bury it in the man's head, kill the man who had taken Matt away from him, who had exposed him. He would get his revenge. He was an Avenger, it was what he was supposed to do. "I know a lot of people in jail, but only one that would want to hurt me  _emotionally_."

_The man that's taken away almost as much as Bullseye. The one who killed Gwen, Mary Jane. The man you couldn't kill because you were so young. Dammit._

"So what'll it be?"

"You know, Bullseye. You're a bit of an idiot. The only person that would've hired you is in jail. I watch all my enemies. None of them have broken out," Peter said. "That means no one's planted any bombs anywhere."

"Call my bluff then. Wait for the two minutes to tick down, and when the street erupts you'll know I was telling the truth," Bullseye said.

 _Could I have missed something? Maybe Osborn did break out, I just missed it. I've been a bit out of it, and Jameson has had me writing bogus articles that don't require me doing any actual researching. I haven't been at a computer in days._ Peter looked back down at the knife.  _I can't take any chances. Not with people's lives in my hands._

"Alright. I've made my choice," Peter said, bracing his legs. "I kill you, everyone on the street dies. I kill the girl, I've just killed an innocent civilian in cold blood and go to jail. Either way, I end up damaged and Norman is happy." He took a deep breath, putting the knife to his throat. "Or I kill myself. If I'm dead, he has no reason to kill anyone. He'll have gotten his revenge."

Bullseye grinned. "Smart boy. So take your pick."

"I already have." Peter slid the knife out and closed his eyes. One swipe and it would be over. Not so bad.

There was a dull thud and a grunt, and Peter's eyes flashed open, staring wide eyed as Bullseye fell to the ground in front of him, an arrow buried in the back of his head.

"No!" The street would blow up at any second now! He had to-

"Peter!" He was tackled suddenly from behind, arms wrapping tight around his waist as he hit the ground. Groaning, he flopped to the side, watching as Captain America got to his feet and picked up the screaming girl, carrying her over to her weeping mother.

"Cap?"

"Tony and Bruce have disabled the bombs. You're okay now," Captain said, moving toward Bullseye as the police flooded in, setting up a blockade between them and the crowd.

"What?"

A hand touched his shoulder as he got to his feet and he turned to see Natasha. She slid her hand up towards his neck. "You'll thank me for this later."

"Wha-"

 

-.-

 

When Peter woke, he was wrapped tightly around Clint, his injured shoulder bound up, and the room was dark. Startled, he pushed himself up, ignoring the twinge his shoulder gave in protest. Clint gave a muffled groan and tugged him back down, sliding his lips over Peter's before he could start freaking out again.

He wanted to protest as Clint slid on top of him, straddling his waist, but even when Clint broke the kiss, he moved his hand to cover Peter's mouth, staring down at him with hazy blue eyes.

"Hey sleepy head," he said, leaning over Peter to click on the bedside lamp. "Nat didn't hit you that hard you wimp. Now let's see how many questions I can answer before you can even open your mouth."

Peter glared up at the archer, hoping that was answer enough.

"Tony's been bugging you when you go to work, figuring that if Bullseye was going to attack, it'd be when you were out of the tower and out of our sight. Don't worry, the bugs died when you got back into the tower so you weren't totally having your privacy invaded. When Bullseye attacked you, all of us were already moving in on your position. JARVIS found the bombs before Bullseye said anything so Stark and Banner were already working on it while the rest of us waited for something really bad to happen. We wanted you to handle it yourself."

Clint gave a small smile, eyes practically begging for Peter to forgive him as he removed his hand from the younger's mouth.

"So you let two people die before you stepped in?" he asked.

"We weren't there for that," Clint said, ducking his head. "And I really wanted to let you get your own revenge if you wanted it. We wanted you to try and work things out yourself, for your benefit and ours. After all, Bullseye revealed a lot of information..."

Peter shoved him off, curling on his side as he began to shake. "I was going to do it. You realize that right? I thought if it was between me and every one else, it'd have to be me. I was going to do it."

Clint's hand danced along Peter's side, unsure. "I know. That's why I feathered the guy. I wasn't going to lose you."

Peter's heart clenched at the words and he closed his eyes, angry tears spilling down his cheeks. He had almost died, and for no reason at all. Not to mention the person who  _really_  wanted him dead was still running around, thinking up more ways to hurt him. It was enough to make him wish he had just gotten it over with in the middle of the street.

"Do you need me?" Clint asked. "Is there anything I can do to make it up to you? It...it wasn't up to me to let you go through that but...I think you needed it. At least now you know you don't want to die anymore."

Peter let out a bitter laugh. "Oh no. Now I want it more than ever."

Clint was silent, his hand retracting. "I'm sorry."

"I just want this to be over. All of it."

"Do you know who hired him?" Clint asked.

"Norman Osborn is my best guess. Green Goblin. He killed Gwen, and he hates me more than anything," Peter said. "The rest of my enemies just wanna kill me. Norman...he wouldn't be happy with just that."

"Tomorrow, tell Tony about him," Clint said. "They can start looking for him then."

"Tony's probably listening in and is already started," Peter mumbled into the pillow. He flipped a bird up at the ceiling. Tony would understand it was really a form of endearment.

Clint snorted and tugged Peter close, pressing his lips to the younger's temple. "You know, I envy you a bit."

"Hm?" Peter let one hand trail lazily over Clint's chest, wondering for a moment if he should be concerned by how much comfort he was getting out of Clint's touch.

"When given the choice between saving one and saving many, you chose to sacrifice yourself to save all," Clint said. "I wouldn't have done that. I don't know if that makes me a bad person but...I'm glad people like you exist. I just would prefer you alive."

"And I prefer saving people, what's your point?"

"My point is that you scared me and I'm glad you're alive and your bravery makes me like you more than I did originally."

"You like me?" Peter propped himself up on his elbows, looking over at Clint.

Clint was staring up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze. "Yeah. You're a sweet guy Peter. I know you've been through a lot but you've still got this innocence about you that makes me want to protect you."

"What?"

Sighing, Clint turned on his side to look at him. "You still think the good will always come out on top. That justice will always be served."

"Not to shatter your illusions, but that's not it," Peter said with a shake of his head, sitting up. "It's not that I think good triumphs over evil. I just know that while I'm around, I'll give everything to keep people safe and I believe that at the end of the day, even if I don't win...I'll have saved someone."

It was true. It was never about stomping out evil for good. Fighting crime was a never-ending battle, maybe not even a battle he was winning. He was just helping keep the tide from totally washing everything out and destroying everything in its path. With great power came great responsibility, and he had to do what he could to help others in every situation because if he didn't...well then what was the point in even living? He had learned that lesson a long time ago.

"I think you just made me like you even more," Clint said, his voice low.

"Yeah?" Peter gave a soft smile, his heart stuttering a bit when Clint returned it.

"Yeah. Now go to sleep before I decide jumping you is a good idea," Clint said, dragging the younger down and enveloping him in a hug.

Feeling better than he had in days, Peter just shut his eyes.

 

-.-

 

"He's a tough kid," Natasha said as she sipped at her coffee.

Clint nodded his agreement. It was only him, Steve, and Nat in the kitchen, because apparently nine in the morning was still too early for anyone else to be up. Steve had already gone for his morning jog and he and Nat had already had an hour-long spar.

"I'm glad we were able to help," Steve said. "Tony was up all night looking for the Green Goblin and I was able to convince Fury to pour more resources into it after last night. It's only a matter of time before we catch him."  
"Are we going to kill him?" Clint asked, pouring his own cup of coffee.

"I don't see why not. He deserves it," Nat said, glaring down into her cup. "That he killed Matt just to  _hurt_  someone else...well he hurt more people than he thought and he's going to pay."

Steve raised an eyebrow, surprised to hear such...personal, info come out of the assassin, but Clint was more surprised by how strongly she felt.

"Did you and Matt have more than a few...interactions going on?" Clint asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

Pushing the cup away, Natasha huffed. "We worked together a lot when I first got picked up by SHIELD. I owe him a lot and I never got to pay off the debt. This is the least I can do." Without another word, she left the room, leaving Steve and Clint to stare after her.

"She's a lot like Tony," Steve said after a moment.

"How do you figure?"

"Tony does everything he can to take care of his things. She does everything she can to pay off her debts," Steve said, a knowing look in his eye.

Clint tilted his head to the side. "That was rather deep Cap. You get that off a fortune cookie?"

"Do fortune cookies carry such specific fortunes?" Steve asked, eyes widening.

"Uh, no," Clint said. "It was a joke."

"I hate when I don't get these references," Steve said and for a moment, Clint felt like he had kicked a puppy. It was never any fun to make fun of Steve when he got all depressed looking. "I guess I should look more at the links Tony sent me."

"You know what? Why don't you ask Peter to send you some links instead?" Clint had a feeling most of what Tony had sent Steve was just porn.

"What am I doing?"

Clint turned to see Peter shuffling sleepily into the room, rolling his bandaged shoulder as he scratched his bare stomach. He was unable to stop himself from staring, then raised his gaze to see Peter staring at him with a crooked eyebrow. "Uh, Cap doesn't get any references to modern culture. You should send him some wiki articles or something."

"Oh, yeah, sure," Peter said, making his way over to the refrigerator.

Before he could do anything though, Tony strode into the room, putting together one of his fancy computer screens as he did so and tossing it on the island counter.

"Got a location for you. I vote we move out sometime in the next two minutes because the guy has a tendency to change his location on an hourly basis," Tony said, grabbing Nat's abandoned cup of coffee and downing it. "Why is there not more coffee in my hand? JARVIS?"

"Sir, I do not have hands," JARVIS said.

"Remind me to change that. Coffee, in my hand, now," Tony said, collapsing into one of the barstools and holding his hand out. "I was working all night on that stupid thing but Norman's pretty shitty at hiding himself. Just had to hack into a few cameras and we're all good."

Peter stared at him, dazed as he slid a cup of coffee across the counter. Tony stared down at it for a moment, then opened his mouth and poured the whole thing in. "You didn't have to do that, Tony. Really."

Tony's eyes sharpened as he stood once more. "I like my things. I protect my things. Go kiss your Auntie good morning. JARVIS, if I mentioned anything about wanting to give you arms, I'm sorry, I like you just the way you are."

"Yes sir, thank you sir."

Tony sauntered back out of the room and Peter looked over at Clint.

"Should I-"

"Suit up, Spiderman," Steve interrupted. "We have a mission to complete."

 

-.-

 

"If it is one man, why do we not just storm in?" Thor asked from his position beside Peter on the roof of a tall building two streets away from the warehouse Norman was supposedly holed up in.

"Your brother was one man," Peter said as answer.

"No, my brother was a god," Thor said, sounding offended.

"My bad. Look, Norman is crazy and wants to harm me in any way he can. That means he might have hostages, or be planning to launch an attack somewhere else if we just go charging in."

"What a despicable man," Thor said, frowning.

"You're telling me," Peter said, crouching low. "What's the plan Cap?"

"Hawkeye is on the building next to the warehouse," Steve said. "The room is mostly windows so he has a clear shot down in. He says there's not much of anything going on, so Norman's probably in one of the backrooms."

"Want me to lure him out?" Peter asked.

"That's probably our best bet," Natasha said. "I say we go for it." There was silence and a crackle. "Peter, we're on a private line. This is your chance to get revenge if you want it, and get your questions answered. Be smart about it and get what you need. As soon as things look sticky, I'm going in with Clint. I want to get a few shots in of my own."

Peter was a little surprised by the venom in her voice. "Okay."

"Okay? You're just going to walk in there, injured, after last night?" Clint asked, obviously not understanding what Peter was agreeing too.

"I'll be fine," Peter said. "I've got a god and Captain America to back me up."

"And me and Bruce are still sweeping everything in a two mile radius for suspicious activity, no need to thank us, really, it's fine," Tony said.

"Thanks," Peter said anyway. "So we clear then?"

"Go on in Spiderman."

Peter gave a nod to Thor then shot a web out, swinging down over the street, shooting and swinging until he had landed beyond the fence that wrapped itself around the warehouse. It did a surprisingly good job of keeping out the noise of the city. He gave a small run and leap, plastering himself to the metal wall and then crawling around the outside, looking for cameras. Oddly enough, he found none. Then again, Norman had only been there for a half hour at the max so he wouldn't have had time to set up shop really.

"There's some odd flickering going on along the wall you're on," Clint said.

Peter sprung away and a moment later, the wall exploded, shards of metal and orange plastic flying everywhere. "Pumpkin bombs. This is definitely our guy."

He stared into the smoky warehouse, frowning when all he saw was a few broken boxes and sloping metal shelves containing paint splattered buckets. Continuing forward, he glanced around, stopping every few moments to really listen for anything suspicious. His spidey sense had gone off right after Clint had spoken, but he wasn't sure that was enough of a warning to give him the clear.

Upon reaching the center of the room, he cast a glance around. Nothing.

"You see anything?"

"Not yet. It's a-"

Senses blaring, Peter whirled around, but the next instant, the paint buckets began to explode, the room erupting into flame, hot and burning. He could hear Clint and Natasha cursing in his ears, but no matter what way he turned, his spidey senses continued to scream, the threat of the fire making him dizzy. Staggering forward, a blow to the stomach suddenly had him flat on his back, gasping for air in the smoke filled room.

The Green Goblin loomed over him, lips spread in a wide grin. "At last. I have you stunned, crippled by your own powers, beneath me. Your spirit broken!" He broke off in a high pitched, wheezing giggle.

Peter gagged as the Goblin jumped up and then stomped down on his shoulders, the knife wound being so brutally reopened making his stomach roll, his eyes watering with tears. The Goblin bent low over him, sneering down at him.

"How does it feel, Peter Parker? I've ripped everything away from you. Jameson is churning out the paper slandering your name as we speak, all your failures as Spiderman finally attached to  _you_  for the entire world to see. Everything you worked for has been ripped out of your hands as it was ripped out of mine. Your lover, dead because he was close to  _you._  And that hawk of yours, well he's next, so take note that his death is your fault as well. You have failed, and when I finally rip you out of this world, no one will be sad to see you go!"

He leapt off again, cackling as the flames grew hotter and brighter, and through his daze, Peter was able to make out the man dancing around the fire, dousing it with what had to be gasoline.

"You want to kill us both then? That it? Going to go down with me?" he managed to get out between labored breaths.

The Goblin's eternal grin died a bit as he turned, eyes crazed. "I have nothing else to live for, Peter Parker. For years I thought of how I was going to take you down, break your spirit and tear you apart until you were nothing but a pathetic heap of  _flesh_  on the ground before me."

He advanced again, quicker than Peter expected. A tight claw wrapped around his arm, hauling him up and throwing him back down to the ground, knocking what little breath he had regained out of his lungs. Peter struggled to his feet as a glowing Pumpkin bomb appeared in the Goblin's hand, the fuse ticking down.

"I don't think so!" He shot his arm forward, a web springing free and encasing the bomb before he tossed it into the flames. "If I'm going down, I'm taking you with me on  _my_  terms. You have gone way too far this time!"

Shoving the pain aside, Peter crossed the space between them, hands wrapping around Goblin's neck as he tackled him to the hot ground. The Goblin just laughed though, high pitched and crazed as his eyes rolled.

"Yes, that's it Parker. Just let all those mor-rals go!" The Goblin continued to rant and rave even as Peter smashed his head against the hard packed, gasoline soaked earth.

All at once it hit him. This was what the Goblin wanted. He wanted a total and utter descent into madness, into depravity. He wanted to break Spiderman, shatter his morals, make him a cold-blooded killer, take apart everything that had ever made Spiderman Peter, and made Peter Spiderman.

Gasping for air, Peter hauled himself away, horror washing over him as blood leaked out onto the ground beneath the Goblin's head. Pushing himself up with trembling arms, the Goblin pointed at him, growling.

"What are you doing? Finish me! Is it not what you've always wanted?" The words were a painful screech that blared along the edges of Peter's clouding mind and vision.

"Not like this. Never like this," Peter said, staggering back a few more steps.

He couldn't get a breath, and if he had to guess, the fire was creeping closer, the ground catching on fire as the flames licked up the gasoline the Goblin had spread. Sighing, he let himself fall to the ground, staring at the Goblin.

"I don't kill anyone, not in cold blood. I refuse. I won't let you win."

"So you'll just let us both die! Like this? Burned alive?"

"Didn't you learn anything? I would sacrifice myself before I let anyone else die by my hand. That means you too," Peter said.

The ceiling cracked, caving in on either side of them in a whoosh of sparking embers and fire. Peter knew he should care, but his brain was too hazy to let him think clearly anymore, vision darkening, and finally closing in on the Goblin collapsing back onto the ground.

It was okay. Really. He hadn't let anyone break him. Not even in the end.

 

-.-

 

Clint was sure he was breaking Nat's hand with the way he was squeezing it, but she didn't say a word as they sat in the waiting area of SHIELD's medical bay. Steve had finally given the call after the ceiling had caved in, and Thor had rushed in, diving through the flames like it was water and carrying out the Goblin in one arm, Peter in the other.

The fire trucks had arrived too late to save the building, not that anyone cared really. Steve had taken the Goblin back to headquarters while Clint and Nat had ridden with Peter in the ambulance back to SHIELD's medical area. He had looked a total mess, face red, shoulders bloodied and fingers swollen from the heat. His lungs had been overworked from fighting in the smoke, and the doctors in the ambulance had been unsure if he was going to be okay.

A doctor emerged from the room and both Clint and Natasha perked up, staring at him expectantly.

"He'll need a week of bed rest," the doctor said. "Or that's what I would say if he was a normal human being, but given the accelerated healing rate, I'd give him two days to be back up and running as before. The shoulder wound might take a bit as it was reopened and in fact made worse. He's awake now if you want to talk to him."

The doctor gave a quick nod and headed down the hall, undoubtedly to report his findings to Fury. Before Clint or Natasha could move though, Tony and Bruce rounded the corner and jogged towards them, Bruce's expression worried while Tony's was carefully neutral.

"He's fine," Natasha said before they could ask. "We can go talk to him."

"Oh great," Tony said, shoving the doors open without waiting. The other three followed after him, eyes widening in alarm when they saw Tony had tugged the man up into a sitting position and was embracing him tightly.

"Uh, Tony?" Peter asked, voice rough with smoke.

"Shut up. I heard everything on the comms. You're braver than I thought, and I'm glad to have you on our team. This is also the only display of affection you're ever getting from me so hurry up and hug me back so I can let go," Tony said.

Peter quirked an eyebrow up at Clint but then obeyed, patting the man awkwardly on the back. Tony immediately straightened and brushed his shoulders off.

"Well, now that that's done, I think I'll be off. Come on, Bruce," Tony said, grabbing the other scientist's wrist and hauling him out of the room.

"Thanks Tony," Peter called after him, but Tony just flapped a hand at him and continued on his way.

"You gave everyone a scare in there," Natasha said, arms folded across her chest. "Try not to do it again."

"Yeah, no problem," Peter said. "Thanks for...letting me do what I needed. And I'm sorry you didn't get your own hits in."

Clint frowned, looking over at Natasha, but she refused to look at him, keeping her stare level at the younger.

"It's okay," she said. "I hit him a few times after Thor brought him out. I have no problem kicking a man while he's down."

"I'm going to get mad and lecture you on your morals later, I swear, I just don't have the energy to do it right now," Peter said with a smile.

"And when you do, I'll kick your ass," Natasha said. "Glad we have an understanding. Get better soon. I look forward to our talk."

"I feel like there won't be a lot of talking."  
Natasha tried to keep her face straight, but Peter's expression when he realized what he had insinuated broke her resolve and she outright laughed, shaking her head as she left the room.

"I just made the Black Widow laugh. Should I be afraid?" Peter asked, voice a little dazed.

"Nah," Clint said. "She'll just have to kill you so you don't go spreading lies that she can do anything more than scowl."

"Damn."

They stared at each other for a few moments longer, then Clint crossed the room, fitting one of his hands under Peter's chin and making him look out. "Will you get mad if I kiss you right now?"

"Not at all. I've kind've been waiting for it," Peter said.

"Good." Clint kissed him them, soft, holding it for a moment before pulling back, running his thumb over Peter's lips. "You need sleep. We can talk soon, okay? About...everything you need to talk about. You know I'm always here for you. I'm not going anywhere."

"I'm starting to figure that out," Peter said quietly. "Thank you."

Clint wanted to say more, but instead, he just kissed Peter's temple and left the room.

 

-.-

 

Johnny shoved the plate of badly microwaved food across the table towards Peter, drumming his fingers along the wooden table. "It's a nice place, better, maybe, than the Baxter Building, but don't tell anyone I said that."

"It's more space than I wanted," Peter said, gesturing around at the huge kitchen/living room portion of his suite. "I'm not one for...well, large flashy buildings, but its the safest place for me and this is where everyone else is."

"Not going to move in with SHIELD?" Johnny asked, smirking when Peter glowered at him. "Hey, you're starting to learn they aren't so bad aren't you?"

"Nah, still convinced they're all soulless," Peter said. He stabbed his fork down into the food and shoved it away. "Come on man, you can't even microwave food right."

"All of them?"

Peter looked up to see Johnny staring at him with a knowing smirk on his lips. "What?"

"All of SHIELD? They're  _all_  soulless?" Johnny nudged his shin under the table. "What about that archer friend of yours? You two seem pretty close."

Peter ducked his head to hide his flush even though he knew Johnny would be able to see it anyways. When he had still been at the hospital, Clint hadn't left his side, so the few times Johnny had gone up to see him, he had met Clint as well.

"We are, I guess. I...don't really know what we're doing," Peter said. "It...doesn't feel bad though. I'm not scared of it becoming anything. He's...nice."

Johnny looked at him, head tilting to the side. "Yeah? You moving on then?"

Peter looked back down at his food and took hold of his fork once more, pushing the food around on the Styrofoam plate. "Maybe. Matt wouldn't want me to linger. He'd tell me to stop sulking and get on with my life already. I...I'm not forgetting him."

"I didn't say you were," Johnny said. "I'm happy to see you happy."

Peter looked up, startled. "That's odd."

Johnny crooked an eyebrow up. "What is?"

"I guess I just realized I'm feeling...a lot better."

Johnny's eyes narrowed. "You aren't feeling guilty about that are you? Because that's just like you, denying yourself happiness."

Peter flushed. "No, it's not that. I'm...not afraid of being happy anymore."

Johnny smiled at him, wide. "Good."

 

-.-

 

Peter spent the next few days at Aunt May's suite, reading the articles about his revealed identity and eating her home made soup as he got his strength back up. Aunt May was too used to his life to get too upset over another near death experience, just as long as he let her fuss over him and ask if he was okay twice every hour.

All in all, there wasn't much backlash about the revelation that Spiderman was actually Peter Parker. Jameson had indeed fired him, but he had already gotten a few offers for bigger newspapers asking for him to write for them. He had politely declined all of them, figuring it'd be best to take a break and let all the action simmer down before maybe opening up an online newspaper of his own.

Matt had left him enough money to do what he really wanted. It was one of the few dreams he had shared with someone else, the dream to own his own news corporation and be known not as Spiderman, but as one of the world's best reporters. It was a dream he knew it was a pretty foolish dream to chase after, but Matt had never said anything discouraging about it, only saying he might have to do some favors to get Jameson to let him up the ladder at all.

"Hey."

Peter looked up, surprised to see Clint closing the bedroom door behind him. "Hi."

"Your Aunt went out shopping, with Happy and the Cap," Clint said. "So she'll be safe."

"I'm not freaking out so bad anymore," Peter said. "Everyone knows who I am not, and not so much as a death threat."

"You were right to be worried," Clint said, climbing under the covers and snuggling up under Peter's arm before stealing the paper he was reading and throwing it on the floor. "How are you feeling?"

"Still a little dazed," Peter said. "But a lot better than what I was."

"That's good," Clint said. "So. You need to talk? I can't tell if you're holding it in again."

"I'm not," Peter said, hand sliding up to play with Clint's hair. "I honestly think this whole thing has been...cathartic. I got pushed to my limits and came out on top. If I had truly been broken, I would've killed him. I guess I proved to myself that I'm stronger than I thought I was."

"What about Matt?"

"I miss him," Peter said honestly. "I still wake up wanting him at my side. I miss kissing him and holding him and making blind jokes and the way he'd prod me with his walking stick if I was moving too slow in the morning. But...I know he can't be replaced. I'm...I'm not looking for a replacement, Clint." He shifted so he could look Clint in the eyes, expression earnest. "You know that, right?"

"You loved him, Peter," Clint said. "I want to give you the space you need to get over that and I've just been...invading your space all the time."

Peter gave him a lazy smile. "Do I look like I mind? I like having you close. You've down a lot for me, and I definitely consider you one of my best friends. I'm...open to more."

"Thought you were afraid everyone you got close to was going to die," Clint said, only half joking.

"Well, to be honest, I had a good reason for that," Peter said. "But...Matt taught me that avoiding love forever was dumb. You know, originally, all we ever did was fuck. When I realized it was more than that...I started to push him away. He chased after me and soon I was staying in his apartment more than my own. Then my entire wardrobe was in his closet. Then he was asking me to marry him. If he knew I was just...wasting away and not loving anyone else, not letting anyone else love me...I think he'd beat the shit out of me."

Clint snorted. Peter ducked his head, kissing him softly.

"Not saying I love you," Peter said. "I'm just saying I'm open to letting this turn into whatever it wants."

Peter thought about the letter more as Clint settled into his side once more, grabbing another newspaper and spreading it across their laps. Matt had known him all too well. He was glad that Matt had bothered to write him a letter, bothered to let him know that it was okay to let himself feel. Sure, he might get hurt, but it was better to get a bit of happiness instead of being miserable his whole life.

"Hey buddy, you're getting my shirt wet," Clint said, voice quiet against his ear.

Peter swiped at his eyes. "I swear I didn't realize I was crying. They...they aren't bad tears."

Clint turned, straddling Peter's waist and shoving the newspaper away in one smooth motion. "I believe you. I'm just glad to see you're letting yourself feel again."

Peter was unable to help himself from leaning down to slide his lips over Clint's once more, lazily drinking in his taste as Clint's fingers trailed up and down his neck, wigging in his lap as Peter's own fingers found the sensitive parts of his back.

"Me too," he sighed into Clint's neck after a moment.

He was done pretending that he didn't have emotions. He had them, and they were good. They kept him human, kept him sane. Kept him happy. Clint nibbled at his neck, soft enough to tickle and make him laugh. And there was no point in living if he couldn't be happy every once in awhile.

He was okay with being happy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I left things mostly unresolved because it felt right. Things will be explored more in the future, and I have a few side oneshots planned for these guys. :D Hope you'll all stick around for that.
> 
> Also, on a random note, I enjoyed writing Tony Stark/Bruce Banner banter way too much. And Clint/Natasha have a bromance, I swear. Yes, bromance. They are bros. For life.


End file.
